


Demon Spawn

by orphan_account



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dark, Explicit Language, Incest, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-03-22 07:43:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3720700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where after Zelena's defeat, she is taken to live at Regina's mansion instead of put in jail. The sisters have some bonding time when Zelena falls ill. But, when the illness doesn't recede Regina begins to worry. More characters in future chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea just came to me out of the blue and I had to write it down. I know where I want this to go and figure that if I get some positive reviews I will put aside my other work to continue this. If not I will focus on "Blood So Sweet" and continue on this when I'm finished with the other fic.

Regina shouldn’t feel any sympathy for the pathetic soul bent over the porcelain toilet, emptying the contents of her stomach. But as she leans against the doorjamb, observing the horrific scene before her, her shriveled black heart reaches out to her older half-sister. And Regina has seen her share of gore and blood, but there is something about the sound of Zelena’s retching that causes her own stomach to churn. Between the onslaughts, the red-head manages to bite out several strings of profanities, many of which are directed toward Regina, “Go away. I don’t want you here-” Whatever else she is going to say is cut off as her body convulses again, but she seems to have been emptied of all sustenance, so she just commences to dry heave into the unforgiving bowl before her. When the episode is over, she slips to the floor, clutching her stomach, and alternating between panting and producing the most awful moans Regina has ever been unfortunate enough to witness.  
“Zelena, you must stop. It pains me so to see a member of the family fallen so low,” she croons and though her tone is mocking, her expression is one of compassion.  
Zelena replies with all the zest she can muster, “Go fuck yourself.”  
Regina doesn’t deign to respond, and instead moves to cradle Zelena’s head in her lap, all the while clucking her tongue in disapproval. She places the back of her hand to her sister’s feverish brow, and commences to run her fingers through her hair in a display of maternal affection that seems out of place in this situation. She even goes so far as to plant a kiss to Zelena’s hairline. Zelena can’t conjure up enough energy to resist and even her quiet protest is less threatening than she had anticipated, “I hope you come down with whatever horrid illness I am suffering from.”  
Regina shushes her softly, rocking gently back and forth. Zelena looks ready to keel over at any moment, but she just can’t help herself, and it is not as if the woman doesn’t deserve it, “In all the years I’ve had Henry, he’s caught the stomach flu a multitude of times and I always nursed him back to health without ever contracting the sickness myself. Now, I am certain I can do the same for you. You’ll rest, push fluids, sweat it out. You’ll be yourself the day after tomorrow, I guarantee it. You’ll be eating pizza and playing outside with your friends. Come Monday, you’ll even be able to go back to school.”  
Despite herself, Zelena smiles, “Don’t patronize me.”  
Regina loops one arm under the back of her knees and the other around her shoulders and carries the Wicked Witch of the West bridal style into the room she is temporarily occupying until a more permanent residence can be established. Regina has many strengths, but great physical prowess was never one of them, and she wonders at the ease with which she lifts Zelena. Sure, she is not what one would consider heavy, but she is a woman grown and yet seems so light as to be completely hollow. Regina fights down her rising concern. Why should she worry for the person that almost took everything from her?  
She handles Zelena like a delicate doll, as if she might just shatter into a million minute shards, too serrated and too numerous to piece back together again, if jostled. She lays her on the bed, and walks out the door. She returns moments later, an armful of necessities tucked into the crook of her arm. “I’ve brought you some crackers to nibble on, some defizzed coke, and some medicine that should help settle your stomach. I also have a barf bucket in case you don’t think you can make it to the bathroom, because I can promise you one thing: if you can’t make it into one of those places, I sure as Hell won’t be cleaning it up.”  
Regina pulls the covers up around Zelena’s frail form, tucking her in as she might Henry. Zelena scoffs, “You’re treating me like a child.”  
Regina pretends to be offended, “What nonsense!” She pats her sister good-naturedly.   
As she is pulling away, Zelena catches her hand, “You should have killed me when you had the chance,” Regina inhales sharply, but before she can comment Zelena continues on, “But, I’m glad you didn’t.”  
For a moment Regina is rendered speechless and Zelena can swear she sees moisture building in those damned, all-consuming, eyes of hers. But before the tears can spill down her cheeks she turns from her sister, muttering a quick, “Goodnight Zelena,” and closes the door. Zelena is once again shrouded in darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this story has a higher ratio of kudos than my other one, so I suppose I should focus on this. Still, it would be nice to have feedback. WARNING: This chapter is extremely dark, though not very graphic. If you have problems with topics such as rape, incest, and abortion please do not read.

While the medicine serves to soothe her queasy stomach, it is not without its own nasty side effect. She is drawn into a drugged, fevered sleep, the likes of which she has never before suffered. She leaves her fretful, sweat slicked body and delves deep into the recesses of her deranged mind in a sort of other worldly experience. She drifts on the precipice of reality as she ghosts through a confused dream-like state-only it isn’t a nightmare, but a memory, one she’d long ago tried to bury, but had kept doggedly at her with the unfailing perseverance of a hound at chase.   
Zelena gasps slightly as she finds herself once again, in the haggard cottage she had for so long called home. She is in the wretched, unforgiving land of Oz, under a leaking roof, covered by an insufficient blanket that does little to dispel the ever present chill that lingers in the air. But perhaps, it isn’t in the area around her, but resides deep within her, waiting, a predator preparing for the perfect time to strike. Come to think of it, the cold had been present since the passing of her beloved mother, as if when all the warmth had been leached from her death stricken corpse, it too had fled from Zelena.   
She hears the groan of protesting wood as the unoiled door is pushed forcefully open. This is followed by the familiar clomp of boots, his boots, on the cobbled floor. She shudders, knows what is to come, knows all too well what happens when her father returns this late from a night at the tavern.   
It had started shortly after mother’s untimely demise. He had said there were few things a man required in life and among them were the attentions of a woman. And since all the coin is spent on whiskey, he can’t afford to buy even an hour with someone more willing to see to his needs. So, the unseemly chore falls to her, Zelena, his daughter.   
She can’t concentrate on how wrong it is, how dirty she feels, how repulsive his breath is blowing upon her flushed skin, or she’ll scream, scream loud for all to hear, and then they’d know and she’d be ruined. So she closes her eyes, and wills herself to go some other place, some other time, a realm in which she can be happy, loved. Tears slip silent and unbidden down her porcelain cheeks, even as his fetid breath tickles her ear, degrading words ravaging her soul even as he ravages her body, “Wicked. Monster. A freak of nature. Unnatural. Inhuman. Wicked.” Wicked. Wicked. Wicked…  
The word resonates within her mind, brewing like a storm. It is what she is, all she has ever been. It is why she deserves this. It is her punishment. She is the spawn of the devil. She is sin.   
When he is through with her, he doesn’t even bother to return the clothes that had been so carelessly strewn across the floor, instead stumbling ungracefully to his own bed where he collapses in a drunken stupor. And Zelena can’t move for the ache between her legs. She feels the sticky wetness, recognizes it as blood. There is always blood. And tomorrow she will wash it away, pretend like it never happened. But for now, she stuffs the blanket in her mouth to quiet the sobs that can no longer be withheld, and as they wrack her broken, defiled body, Zelena can’t help but wish that the gnawing cold would finally take her, numb her pain forever.  
But fate doesn’t see fit to honor her request, for it doesn’t seem to favor those poor, inferior souls who squirm through life, unnoticed and unloved, and Zelena awakes to find her plea has been plaintively ignored.   
Zelena is carried forth in time, revisiting a more recent, more haunting memory. She is stirring a hearty broth, stew being the most conventional meal for citizens of her station. Her father saunters into the one room cabin, alcohol already heavy on his breath and it isn’t even midafternoon. Zelena knows she can’t hide it forever, as much as she might like to, and his reaction is sure to be a much more violent one if he comes to the conclusion on his own. He is not the most observant man, especially when it comes to his daughter, but with every passing day, her situation is becoming increasingly more evident.  
“I’m with child,” Zelena forgoes all pomp and ceremony to address her father in the most simplistic approach possible; he is not a bright man. The only acknowledgment she receives that he even heard her small, muttered declaration was a low, guttural grunt. They both know who fathered the child and they both know the consequences for such a heinous, vile deed.   
Incest is a crime punishable by death, and to her father there is only one option: be rid of the proof and eliminate the problem. Zelena recoils at the mentioning of what should be done-what must be done-to preserve their already unscrupulous reputation. How could she not, when he is proposing taking away the first thing that has brought her unbridled joy since her mother? She already loves this child with a passion that, up until now, had been unfamiliar to her. She just can’t lose it. She can’t. But no amount of begging, pleading, or weeping on her part could alter her father’s heart. He’d never had any regard for the desires of his only daughter and a bastard child sure as Hell wouldn’t change that. Her desperate plight fell on deaf ears and within the hour a doctor had been called to perform the procedure-all with the utmost confidentiality of course.   
The doctor-if such a man can be labeled as such-arrives promptly, dressed from head to toe in an unadorned black uniform, carrying an ominously large satchel in which to tote his various instruments, face a mask of indifference that bespeaks of an all business kind of attitude and little concern for his patient’s comfort. His crooked, hooked nose and slender frame brings to mind the image of a half-starved vulture hovering over a dying animal, ready to swoop down and feast upon the carcass’s innards if given the opportunity.   
After a hasty introduction, he places a hand to her shoulder so as to guide her down on the bed, the sooner to be done with it. And Zelena fights; her father has to practically drag his unwilling daughter across the room. She resists, kicking and screaming and crying the entire way; and she curses too, all the abhorrent obscenities she’s ever borne whiteness to spilling out from her mouth in one long, incoherent sentence. But as always, he pays her no mind, binding her uncooperative limbs to the bedposts with a certain resoluteness that suggests she is a chore to be grudgingly dealt with and not a human being to be considered. She shouts, no longer caring if she is overheard, too fervent in her desperate attempt to escape, “I hate you and I wish you were dead!” A pot chooses this moment to disengage itself from the shelf and shatter on the ground.   
“It is only the wind,” her father supplies for the suspicious doctor, but there is no window with which to admit a draft, and the doctor is not so foolish as to believe such a blatant lie. Still, after a quick pause, he continues with his work, sifting through his bag for the proper tool. It may be clear to all in the room that Zelena is a witch, but money is money after all, and with the declining economy of Oz, the doctor can’t afford to lose a client. Her father however, is less forgiving, and after striking her with sufficient force to cause stars to swim behind her eyes, he leans in and hisses for only her to hear, “Control yourself, you despicable She-demon! This entire predicament is your fault anyhow. Yet it is my own purse that suffers the consequences.” Subdued by the constricting restraints, Zelena can’t help but see the sense in his words. This is her fault. She is useless. A fiend. A freak. A menace to society. Wicked. She would die for her unborn child, would gladly be stoned a hundred times over, but it isn’t enough. She isn’t enough, isn’t good enough. They are going to kill her innocent baby, whose only sin having been her offspring, and it is her fault.   
And it is without regret or shame that the doctor works between her legs, completing the task with a mechanical proficiency, before taking his payment and taking his leave. The weak flutters that had made themselves known to Zelena only days before cease and a dreadful stillness overtakes her. This is followed by a terrible cramping as her lower half begins to clutch and squeeze uncomfortably. A sharp pain, the likes of which she has never known tears through her as her body tries to rid itself of the motionless fetus. Zelena moans in misery, thick scarlet liquid pouring from her core.   
It is intense and all too real as she is brought from her fretful slumber, only to have the torment continue full force. She thinks this to just be a phantom agony, the remnants of a vivid dream. Then she feels the damp covers and knows it is no hallucination.   
The bed is soaked in blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those who have commented! It means more than I can say! It has fueled me to write a third chapter, so hope you enjoy.  
> P.S. While I have a vague idea as to where I want this story to go, I have't worked out all the gory details. So, if you have any suggestions, please feel free to comment.

Even as Zelena’s mind is being plagued with unpleasant memories from her past, another denizen of Storybrooke is enduring the same affliction. Unlike Zelena he suffers his private agony in silence, never disturbing his sleeping bride.   
“…That’s the problem dearie; the thing you love most is me.”  
“You think I love you?”  
“I’m a perceptive sort.”  
“You’re insane.”  
“Beside the point. Well, look, it’s okay. I have that effect on women. You love me…”  
This conversation runs through his head as Zelena continues to prattle on about time travel and meatloaf pies. Dinner is quickly coming to an end and Rumple is grappling to find a way to get a hold of the dagger before he is sent to whittle away the hours in the confines of his cage. So he makes to pour more wine, the alcoholic beverage ever a handy asset when trying to stall for time.  
He lets his eyes wander over Zelena, probing for some clue, some indicator, he had up until now, missed. Zelena mistakes the intentions of his searching gaze, a slight blush creeping into the creamy skin of her delicate face. A face so much like Cora’s. Regina had never possessed her Mother’s sharp features and light coloring, had never had those lying, cheating, scandalous eyes. Despite her best efforts, even with her mask of indifference in place and at its best, her feelings always shone through her eyes. Those beautiful, brown orbs, which betray her every emotion, had been inherited from her father, as had most her physical traits. Zelena, on the other hand, is every bit her Mother. It is no wonder, thinks Rumpelstiltskin, that whatever higher power that directs such things as fate and destiny, saw fit to present Zelena with the dreadful life she lead. It was those suspicious, cold eyes. And, like her mother, Zelena is never content with what life has to give the likes of her, and that is her downfall. She always craves more, never grateful for what blessings she does have. And Rumple is about to give her more, not just a nibble, but an entire mouthful, and the hopes she chokes on it.  
He stands to move around the table so that he is positioned in front of Zelena. He knows for certain that the dagger is with her; she’d never left it since first obtaining it. That just meant he’d need to get close enough to locate it, and he knew just how to accomplish that. He is talking even before he knows what he is saying, and Zelena is hanging on his every word, drinking it in, “It is never easy for a man to admit he is wrong. But, I wronged you. And hurt us both.”  
He realizes then, that she still loves him, and he is about to exploit that deadly weakness. She has taken the bait, “Those mistakes can’t haunt us, not anymore. Soon, history will be wiped clean.”  
Rumple, seeing his opening, continues with the fatal blow, “Until then, a gentleman always makes amends for his failings.” He strokes her cheek tenderly, if a touch possessively, and she looks all the world like a school girl fawning over a new crush. He can almost hear her heartrate quicken as he leans in. His lips connect with her clavicle. She lets out a gasp at the contact, throwing her head back to allow for better access. He works his mouth, sucking at the point, before moving up the length of her slender neck.  
Zelena stands, pressing her body closer to him, in a desperate effort to get closer to him. Rumpelstiltskin shoves her, none too gently, against the wall. He presses a bruising kiss to her lips-Cora’s lips-his hands roaming her entire body-She has Cora’s figure. Despite himself, he can feel himself hardening as Zelena slips her tongue into his mouth, her own fists balling in his hair and the fabric of his clothing in a moment of pure, undiluted ecstasy. She tastes bitter, not sweet like his precious Belle, but of a vile poison poorly masked by honeyed wine; she tastes like deceit, she tastes like Cora. Rumpelstiltskin has never had much a sweet tooth. Lust mounts within him as he thinks of his dead lover and is then, almost immediately bowled over by the force of his shame and disgust. Reminding himself of the task at hand, he continues to search her body for the blade, running his hand down her back, over her waist, on her legs, until he finally comes across the accursed blade. It is tucked neatly into her boot, and thinking Zelena is too preoccupied at the moment, makes a grab at it. Apparently, he isn’t as discreet as he had thought because his fingers barely brush the hilt before he feels himself become frozen in a spell and Zelena is shifting from his embrace.   
“Sorry love, afraid not,” She spats.  
Rumple plays stupid, unaccustomed to being caught at his own game, “Never on a first date, eh, dearie.  
“You just wanted the knife,” She pulls the object in question from its make-shift sheath, a sort of sick glee creeping into her eyes-Cora’s eyes.  
“I suppose I’ll be sending myself back down to the cellar again,” Rumple resigns himself, defeated.   
Zelena pouts, and for the first time since seeing her, Rumple finds the expression similar to Regina’s, “A pity. And I’d thought you were a gentleman. Dinner is not even over. I was going to serve my best chardonnay.”  
Rumpelstiltskin doesn’t even glance behind him as he says, “I think I’ll pass.”  
Zelena laughs; Rumple doesn’t see the amusement. “When will you learn? I call the shots hear. I have the dagger. I pull the strings. If I say stay, then you stay. And right now,” Zelena pauses, giggling, “I want more than anything for you to stay.”  
He slinks over to where she has positioned herself on the table, legs crossed, all femininity. He has no choice but to be obedient, a dog and his alpha, a slave and his owner, a puppet and his master. And if he was ever a man, he has now been reduced the lowliest of sniveling street rats. She leans in, lips brushing his ear as she delivers the final command, “Pleasure me.”   
And he has no choice but to oblige.   
He captures her mouth, his hands continuing the exploration of her form, except now that they aren’t on the hunt for the dagger, they can fully appreciate her magnificence. Zelena wraps her legs around his waist, digging her fingers into his hair, drunk, not from the wine, but from the taste of him. With an impatient wave of her hand, they are enveloped in a fog of green smoke, and are transported to her humble bedroom.   
Rumpelstiltskin pushes her down onto the bed, climbing on top of her, a predator lurking over its prey, but Zelena isn’t the least bit off put by his threatening manner, if anything she is taking all the more joy from it. He makes an attempt at removing her boots to get at the dagger, all in the guise of affection, but she catches his hand, placing it to her breast. He does as he his bid, once again revolted by his rising desire. What would Belle think? How could he look her in the eye after succumbing to Zelena’s seductive powers? But it is so difficult to think of Belle, so distant and withdrawn, when Zelena is in his arms, putty in his hands, a panting, sweating, disheveled mess, and a glorious one at that. She is producing the most idolatrous, sinful sounds, cursing and moaning at his burning touch. She is real and she is alive, and though he may try he cannot discount the fire coursing rampant through his veins-Belle had never dared go this far, after all she was a lady, a princess, and wouldn’t have her name shamed, but it had been so long and Rumple is so human.   
He is tearing the expensive fabric of her dress, even before he is given the command, hating himself for it, hating Zelena. But the passion only fuels him farther, and he takes her, rough and hurried, and Zelena is screaming her pleasure. She is close, driven by the rough feel of his hands on her bare breasts and his rapid pace inside her. She is shouting obscenities, alternating between exclamations of bliss and breathy declarations of his name. It has him on the edge, but he is determined not to give in to the witch, to outlast her. Finally she reaches her climax, writhing beneath his weight, arching her back to bring him deeper. He can’t hold out, and to his utter horror, releases with a growl inside her. He is not stronger than temptation, so how could he have expected to resist her charms-he hadn’t with Cora, had he?  
He draws back, as if bitten. He hastens to gather his clothes-which had been scattered about the room sometime during the ordeal-with whatever remaining dignity he retained. From the bed, Zelena, having finally recovered, still naked as the day she was born-save for the boots-props herself up on her elbow and says, “I told you, love. I warned you that one day you’d choose me.” And Rumpelstiltskin is terrified, terrified because it hadn’t been witches brew or a spell, a curse or even the dagger; he had fucked her of his own accord and done it with relish. And damn his human nature, given the opportunity to do it again, he’d take it, no matter the cost to his psyche or moral values-though not much to begin with. Such was the fault of man. So he flees, mortified on account of his own carnal desires…  
“Rumple, Rumple, please wake up,” Belle is shaking his shoulder, rousing him from his nightmare. He bolts upright, breath coming in panicked gasps. She holds him, holds him close, so innocent, so unaware of what he’d done. He pulls from her embrace, not wanting his corruption to rub off onto her pure soul.  
He rises, not daring to look at her face when his cold rejection smarts so. He mutters something along the lines of, “I’m going to take a shower,” before going to cleanse his body of Zelena’s lingering touch. And as he washes, he swears to himself, to whatever deity exists, “I’ll kill the bitch. I’ll have her pay in blood. She has bitten off more than she can chew.”  
But, little does he know, she is already choking.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who have commented. I am flattered and it keeps me writing.

Regina rouses from a most uncomfortable position, drool pooling onto her pillow in an undignified manner. It is the first decent sleep she had had the pleasure to partake in in over a year, and she had slept like the dead. But of course it wasn’t meant to last, as a shrill scream pierced the air, shattering the delicate silence that had befallen the mansion. A woman’s scream. Zelena. She launches from the comforts of her bed, blankets tangling around her ankles, hindering her progress. She is stumbling through the hall in this disoriented state when she remembers she has a convenient trick up her sleeve for just such occasions, and she forgoes tripping up the last flight of stairs in turn for poofing herself to her intended destination. She recalls vaguely having been in the midst of a dream, but can’t remember for the life of her what it was about and she pauses momentarily to wonder if she is, in fact, just experiencing another of the inexplicable visions. The sky outside is black as pitch, with naught a star to be seen, yet there is a strange, unearthly glow about the room that provides it with a certain nightmarish quality. It is not a sufficient quantity as to offer any insight as to what horrors are transpiring to illicit such a dreadful sound from her sister, but is enough to cast sinister shadows that leave much to the imagination.  
Her hand flies out, searching the wall for a switch, flipping it so as to better illuminate the scene. A harsh light fills the room, momentarily blinding her. When her eyes finally adjust, she has to bite back the bile rising in her throat, resisting the urge to expel the contents of her stomach onto the thick, plush carpet that adorns her house. Though, what does some expensive flooring matter when the elegant feather bead is ruined beyond salvation? Indeed, it appears to have suffered at the hands of some rouge paint ball gun-one that only shoots a ghastly shade of red that is. If Regina hadn’t known any better she’d have assumed that the garish crimson was the original color, there was so much of it. And at its center is a writhing, moaning, pitiful mess. Zelena, now pale as death, clutches at her stomach, crying out for mercy from some unnamed god, completely oblivious to her surroundings. She is coated in the sticky, scarlet liquid Regina has come to identify as blood, and in all her years of torture and murder, she’d never known someone to bleed so much.   
Her thoughts jump immediately to attempted suicide, but she had taken deliberate care and precaution to rid the room of any potential weapons. Any conclusions about it being self-harm are dashed, however, when Zelena digs long, slender fingers into the flesh of Regina’s arm, eyes glassed over and sickly, voice feeble and desperate, “Help me.”   
She utters the words Regina had thought her too proud to ever say and knew in that moment just how dire the situation is. She tries to staunch the bleeding, but there is so much, she can’t tell from whence it came. She searches Zelena’s body for any wounds all while whispering sweet assurances, running her hands over her slight form once, twice, thrice… naught a sole injury to be found. Zelena is fading fast, slipping further from this world and its cruelties and without knowing the cause of her ailments, Regina can’t hope to cure her through magical means and so wracks her brain for an alternative.  
She pulls Zelena’s shivering body into an embrace, not caring for the blood that stains her silk pajamas, shushing her and repeating the same statement over and over, as if declaring something enough times makes it true, “You’re okay. You’re gonna be alright. You’ll be just fine.” All the while she tries to find a means to saving her sister. She has never trusted the medicines and needles and tests of this world, but it seems her only viable option. Gold would most likely be capable of healing Zelena, but Regina suspects he’d sooner cook and eat his own foot than help the witch. So, without further consideration, she transports the both of them to Storybrooke’s modest hospital in a flurry of violet smoke, images of Henry’s lifeless corpse filtering through her mind, her most recent experiences with such establishments not a positive one.   
A half-conscious Zelena is carted away almost immediately and Regina is left to twiddle her thumbs in the waiting room like some commoner. She sets herself to pacing, striding back and forth between the narrow rows of chairs. The handful of other residents dispersed about the room eye her suspiciously, and after returning a pointed glare to one gray haired old hag, she finds it within herself to take a seat. It doesn’t last however, as she attempts to dispel her nervous energy by bouncing her leg, and soon resorts to once again pacing the aisle. She thinks to call Robin, but it is the dead of night and though she knows he’d be there in a heartbeat should she need support, he doesn’t give a lick damn about Zelena’s wellbeing and the thought of dragging him from his bed seems rather callous. And when had she started caring anyway? The woman had been nothing but trouble ever since their first meeting and yet…  
Regina has to keep her mind from pondering such dangerous inclinations, so she attempts to distract her traitorous mind by watching some TV-a rerun of one of Henry’s favorite shows, Loony Tunes. It holds her attention for a few moments before her eyes are once again wandering the room for some other form of entertainment. She spots a couple of violations she could report to City Hall, but decides not to be an ass about it, and instead opts to speak with the “kindly” receptionist. She makes no move to make the minor accommodations, in fact going so far to say Regina is “nitpicking”. That is when Regina has to use her authoritative voice and make things get done; how quickly these people forget. When she is satisfied, she once again returns herself to the violent cartoons. Then she begins to think she may have been the least bit demanding and compulsive in her inspection, and regretting her actions, starts to pace again.  
The cycle may have repeated itself interminably, save for the entrance of Dr. Whale. Regina doesn’t hesitate, her torrent of concerns flowing from her mouth in one long rush, “Is she okay? What happened? Will she need surgery? When can she come home? Will she need medication? Does-“  
Dr. Whale holds out a hand to halt her, an impatient expression plastered on his face and she can’t discern whether the news will be positive, “Zelena will make a full recovery and we believe the fetus will too.”  
Regina feels as if someone has landed a good, hard punch to her gut, knocking the breath from her lungs and causing her to stumble back. Her mouth works, moving to form words, but no sounds come forth. “Fetus? As in… as in,” she can’t bring herself to say the word, “As in baby?”  
Whale gives a small chuckle, “Well that would be the definition of ‘fetus’.”  
Regina’s features suddenly contort into a smile, but it is not one of amusement, or even one of pleasure. It is one of those ‘I don’t know what to do’ reactions. She steps forward and the motion is threating; old habits die hard, like cockroaches they are, “Dr. Whale, I don’t believe it is April Fool’s Day, so I will not hear of such blatant foolishness. Now tell me, what is wrong with Zelena.”  
The doctor is not thrown by the woman’s threatening posture, but he does see the gravity of the situation and so quickly sobers up, “I apologize. I had assumed you knew of your sister’s pregnancy, but it would appear I am wrong. She is ten weeks a long and was having a miscarriage. She was too strained and too stressed; her body couldn’t handle it. But she-they-will be fine now.”  
Regina is once again rendered speechless. Finally she chokes out a barely audible, “Can I see her?”  
Whale sighs, shaking his head solemnly, “She is sleeping as of now, and I suggest you go home and do the same. It’s been a long, tiresome night and you should rest. I can contact you when she awakens.”  
Regina is responding, even before making the conscious decision to do so, “No. I’ll stay here and wait. I want her to know that I’m here for her.”  
Whale looks down at his watch, that impatient look sliding back into place, “Touching. Alright, well suit yourself. I have other patients to attend to.” The doctor turns on his heel and takes his leave.   
And that is how Regina finds herself sprawled across one of the waiting room chairs, snoring in a most ungainly way due to the uncompromising position. An incessant ringing brings her from the depths of her much needed slumber at around eight thirty. She grumbles and yawns as she stretches, before reaching for her phone that is in her purse. She can feel the aggravation rising, as she is in no mood to speak with anyone at the moment, or for that matter, explain what the Hell is going on. A smile brightens her face, however as she recognizes the contact as Robin. She gives a groggy, “Hello.”  
His voice is frantic, distraught even, “Regina! Regina? Oh God, are you alright?”  
She is confused by his interrogation of her health, “Yes, I’m perfectly fine. Why?”  
Robin will not be placated, “Blood, there is blood everywhere! I thought she’d hurt you… or worse.”  
And that is when Regina remembered their date. He was to come by and take her out to breakfast on this “wonderful” morning. When she didn’t answer the door he probably went inside-it wasn’t all that difficult to get in, what with his advanced lock picking skills-to see what was keeping her. And then he had found the blood. It was in Zelena’s room and as of now, the Wicked Witch is none too happy with her sister; it doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots. She is quick to reassure him, “Robin, it’s okay. It’s Zelena’s blood, not mine,” she pauses, looking for a way to explain, words failing her, “I took her to the hospital. She had a, um… an incident.”  
Silence. Then, “What kind of incident?”  
Regina is not ready to tell him, having not come to grips with it yet herself, and is relieved when a nurse strides into the room, “Look, I’m not quite sure what happened either, but I have to go now. I promise I will explain everything when I get all the details.” She doesn’t give him time to protest, ending the call and turning toward the approaching nurse.  
He has a friendly smile, but seems a bit unsure of himself as he delivers the news, “Ms. Mills, your sister is awake if you’d like to see her.” She nods her assent and is lead to the room Zelena is being kept.  
She is lying so that the sun strikes her at an odd angle, giving her ringlet of fiery hair the appearance of a halo. Her eyes are closed and for the moment she looks at peace, vulnerable; not the raving mad, suspicious woman she is. Regina thinks she may have drifted off to sleep, but her eyes flutter open and she croaks out a quiet, “Why am I here?”  
Regina sinks gratefully down into one of the recliners, pleased that it offers more comfort to her sore bottom than the unforgiving waiting room chairs and says, “You don’t remember?” Lucky her, she thinks, that night will forever be engrained in my head.   
Zelena shakes her head, a movement that bespeaks her lethargy, “No, and they aren’t telling me much either. And more important, why are you here?”  
Regina finally admits what she has suppressed so long, “Because, like it or not, Zelena, I care for you. I mean, Hell, we are sisters. We should be giving each other fashion advice and sharing secrets and giggling about boys, not trying to take each other’s heads off.” Zelena refuses to give eye contact, turning her head so as to avoid meeting Regina’s hopeful gaze. The younger of them ventures on, “And I suppose I’d thought, maybe, you hated me at least a little less than you did last month.”  
Zelena scoffs, “You’re delusional.”   
Regina can’t help feeling a touch of hurt by the statement. She retorts, “You grabbed my hand last night, when you were in pain. You asked for my help.”  
Zelena’s voice is absolutely dripping with derision, “Yeah, and I lost a lot of blood. Clearly I wasn’t thinking straight if I don’t even recall the events of last night.”  
Regina sighs, working to restrain her temper. Deciding it best to just walk away from the situation, she stands to leave, throwing over her shoulder, “You’re impossible. Why do I even bother? I can’t wait to see what kind of mother you make.”  
The sound of Zelena’s voice stops her mid-stride, “What the bloody Hell are you going on about now?”  
Regina pinches the bridge of her nose, trying to contain her anger as she is washed with self-loathing. Zelena doesn’t know. Any ideas of restoring the tattered remains of what could almost be considered a relationship are crushed with that one insensitive comment. So much for being there to support her. Damn her for reducing everything she touches to ash and damn her for the news she has to deliver, “Zelena, you’re pregnant.”  
Zelena just stares at her, stares like Regina had proclaimed herself the king of mars come to steal the world’s supply of popcorn. Then her eyes fill and deep, sorrowful sobs are wracking her body; she, who is broken beyond repair. It is just too much for her to bear. At least, it is too much for her alone. Regina approaches her cautiously, like one might a cornered wild cat and wraps her sister in a hug. Zelena doesn’t resist the contact, instead burying her face in Regina’s neck, staining her blouse with salty tears.   
And Regina comforts her, same as last night, and whispers, “I’m here for you. We are going to do this together.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I had the same idea as Eddie and Adam, though I'd never dreamed that would ever happen. I was just wrong about the father of Zelena's child. So, that makes me 50% correct. Who would have thunk? I am going to die if Sunday doesn't come fast enough! Anywho, enough rambling. Here's the update.

Zelena is drawn from her daze by Regina’s quiet voice and gentle tap to her arm, “Is there anyone you think you should tell? I mean before there are rumors. Those can lead to some pretty nasty situations.”  
Zelena shakes her head, not comprehending her sister’s meaning, “Who would need to know?”  
Regina clears her throat, like she is uncomfortable, “Maybe Rumpelstiltskin for one.”  
Zelena blushes, immediately becoming defensive, “Why Rumple of all people?”  
Regina gives her a pointed glare, the likes of which she gives Henry whenever he isn’t being completely honest, “I may not be the smartest person in the world, but I’m also not an idiot either. You were in love with Rumpelstiltskin and had the dagger in your possession. You could force him to do anything, anything you could dream and you expect me to believe you didn’t take advantage of that?”  
They are driving home from the hospital and Zelena is not all that comfortable, having not yet coming to grips with this world and its entirety of strange technologies-in short, she is scared shitless of cars. Regina pulls over, so as to better explain herself when Zelena gives her that innocent ‘I have no idea to what you are referring’ expression. “Look Zelena-”   
Zelena interrupts, “No, I don’t want to talk to him. Don’t follow me.” Without much consideration as to where she is going or what she is doing, she exits the car, slamming the door with a touch more force than is strictly necessary.   
Regina is quick to follow shouting after her, “What the Hell do you think you’re doing?”  
Zelena doesn’t turn, just keeps walking forward and God, why is it such a monumental task to put one foot in front of the other, to breath even. Regina materializes in front of her, and Zelena knows it is just to spite her, a way to say “I still have magic and you don’t. Look at the pathetic worm you are reduced to in its absence.” without actually voicing the thought. She has been stripped of her free will. So, she shoves her, lashes out, trying to regain some control. But the blow is feeble, a testament to her own remaining strength, and Regina doesn’t even flinch. Her next attack is verbal, “Damn you! Why must you plague me so? Why must you constantly remind me of my sins?” Zelena knows that what she forced from Rumple is perhaps the most vile of her injustices, and it is the only thing in a long line of misdoings she can bring herself to regret.  
Regina’s brow creases in bewilderment, “How do-”  
Zelena clasps her hands to her ears, crumpling to the ground, tears she hadn’t known were threatening to fall, now streaming down her face. And she is shouting, a gut-wrenching sound, “Make the demons flee my mind and leave me to suffer in silence! I carry the spawn of the devil himself and it won’t allow me to forget; it is here to punish me for my crimes! Forgive me please this violation against him and let me be!”  
She feels Regina’s tender presence and intense gaze, is aware of how insane she probably seems. Her sister only shows sympathy though, and Zelena thinks she must have misunderstood. She believes I am speaking to her and not these incessant voices, Zelena reassures herself. It is for the best; Regina would surly send her to the loony bin should she find out. Zelena lets her believe the rant was directed at her. She allows her sister to lead her back to the car, leaning heavily against her, for any remaining energy has been sapped from her body by her outburst.   
Once she has regained at least some of her composure she says, “I apologize. That was a bit out of line.” The voices are quieter, but still present, creeping along the edge of her mind.  
Regina appears a bit shaken, but if she is at all unsettled she doesn’t voice it, instead opting for a more civil approach, “Zelena, I know these last few weeks have been difficult for you. And now, on top of everything else, you carry this guilt with you. In that I can relate.”  
Zelena is fully aware of her sister’s time as queen and all the horrors that entailed-or so she thinks-from the torture, murder, and destruction caused by her reign to the imminent downfall of her kingdom. But this possible story development is new to her. She prompts, “Do you?” Her curiosity is piqued.   
Regina sighs and Zelena can sense all the pain in that one movement and damn her for her rising desire to pull her sister into an embrace and comfort her-this woman who has been handed everything since birth. Regina fiddles with a pen sitting on her dashboard, if only to occupy her fingers, “Yes, it is something I’m not proud of-not that many of the aspects of my life are. I took a man’s heart… when he failed to accomplish his task. And then, I forced him to do all manner of things he’d have never agreed to doing with the likes of me. At least you were acting on your feelings for someone; I acted out of hate and anger.”  
Zelena had expected Regina’s confession to assuage her own guilt, but it just serves to make her feel even dirtier than before. She states as much, “That didn’t make me feel better,” she chuckles bitterly, “but I suppose that wasn’t the point.”  
Regina turns the key in the ignition and the Mercedes roars to life, “at least you can make amends. The person who I did that to is dead and I’ll never be able to tell him how truly sorry I am.”  
Regina, at times, shows moments of great personal sacrifice, and Zelena can’t decide if she admires her for it or hates her. Either way, her sister is not the coward she first pegged her to be. Isn’t it she who is now hiding behind Regina’s skirts like some frightened child at the mention of once again confronting Rumpelstiltskin, her master, lover, and nemesis? Her shoulders slump, resigned to the task ahead of her, “I need to talk to Rumple; I need to apologize.” And break the news that he is to be a father. But that last stray thought remains unstated.   
…  
Rumple slumps back down against the glass display table, breath coming in ragged gasps. Belle, positioned on top of him, giggles and she is glorious like this; hair in disarray, cherry lipstick smudged, lips swollen, body slicked with sweat. Under normal circumstances her amusement would be contagious, but Rumple cannot share in her gaiety.  
She is oblivious to his foul mood, too busy with attempting to adorn herself with the clothes that had been strewn about the shop in their heated passion. She picks up a stray sock, identifies it as his, and throws it in his direction announcing, “We have got to stop doing this. Someone is going to walk in on us.”  
After righting his own wardrobe, he answers, “I’ve told you. I don’t get any customers this time of the day. If not for you, my dear, I’m sure I’d die of boredom.” Ah, the joys of marriage. He’d forgotten what a blessing it could be. Or a curse, says a small voice in the back of his mind. And indeed, something is amiss, despite the delightful company.   
Belle saunters over to him, placing a playful kiss to his lips, “Well we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”  
She is so perfect, too perfect and it torments him constantly. She has only ever been faithful and true, showing him kindness when all others would cast him out, digging for the goodness within him, and when there was none to be found, creating it herself. And how does he begin what should be a healthy relationship, a unity to be founded on trust and purity? He lies, lies about what had transpired while he was in the keeping of Zelena. It eats away at him, devouring all that is good and whole like a parasite consumes the much needed nutrients of its host. And when he is making love to Belle, he often finds his traitorous mind wishing to, instead fuck Zelena. And when he is on the edge of orgasm, it is not the sweet librarian’s name that rises to his lips, but that of the witch. He must bite his tongue to keep from shouting it for all to hear.  
And the repercussions of his debauchery are beginning to take their toll, not only driving a wedge into their marriage, but hurting Belle as well. He has become distant, cold even toward his new wife, in that selfish way of his. He has drawn away, and Belle senses it, knows he is in pain. And being the wonder that she is, she doesn’t demand answers or threaten him, doesn’t treat him in a condescending way or find the comfort she has been denied in the bottom of a bottle. No, she braves the storm, facing the beast head on. She handles him gently, always putting his needs before her own. She tries, unsuccessfully to coax his problems from him, and doesn’t anger when she fails; she is patient. But even the most patient among us has a breaking point. And that is why he worries.  
He has just finished buttoning his designer suit, the fabric soft and cool against his skin, when the bell above the door announces the presence of a customer. And not a moment too soon, as Belle has just finished with reapplying her make up. They turn simultaneously, inching from each other so as to maintain a formal business approach to their potential clients, and immediately stiffen upon recognizing the familiar face.   
Zelena  
He is about to tell her in no uncertain terms to fuck off, but Belle surprises him, beating him to the punchline, “Get Out.”  
Zelena winces as if she has been struck, and her protest is faint and meek, “But I have something of great importance that I need to address with Ru-”  
“No,” Belles voice is pitched low and dangerous, and Rumple doesn’t think he has ever seen her so assertive. She is almost aggressive in her next response, “You have caused him-caused all of Storybrooke-enough pain and misery. I don’t want you anywhere near him. I don’t want to see your face again.”  
Rumple notices that Regina, Zelena’s ever present guard dog, is nowhere in sight, and realizes then that whatever she has to say must be pretty damn significant for her to venture here alone and defenseless. This understanding does nothing to sway his opinions of her though, and he bites out, “You’d best be leaving, Dearie, before I do something I’ll regret.”  
Zelena is many things, but irresolute is not one of them. She tries a new tactic, lowering herself until she is on her knees in front of the couple, begging. And Rumple can’t help the smile that crawls across his face at seeing her diminished to such a pitiful creature. She pleads, “I have wronged you, I know, and I am so terribly sorry. But, no matter how regretful I am, I can’t change the past. I was wrong; it just can’t be done. So I beg of you, please listen to what I have to say.”  
She stares up at them, tears staining her cheeks, a hopeful expression gleaming in her eyes. And Rumple almost allows her to say what she has come to say-if only for his growing curiosity, of course. But once again, Belle is first to speak her mind, eyes normally filled with compassion and warmth now hard and hateful, pinning Zelena with their terrifying intensity. And her voice is just as devoid of mercy, “Leave. Get out before I break your pretty face. Out!” This last command has Zelena scurrying to her feet and fleeing out the door with its potency, leaving Rumple to placate a very irate Belle.  
And, he thinks, for once the roles are reversed.  
…  
Zelena gazes up at the ceiling, tracing nonexistent patterns with her eyes. After the catastrophe at Gold’s, she hadn’t uttered a word to her sister, or anyone for that matter. She’d escaped to the confines of her room and was prepared to live out the rest of her days in its silent existence. Except it wasn’t all that quiet. The voices had returned full force, invading her thoughts and pervading her dreams. She can’t seem to make sense of the incoherent whisperings, though she might try.  
The monotony is broken by a soft knock at her door. She doesn’t give any admission, but the intruder barges in, anyhow. Regina comes bearing a bag filled with God knows what. Zelena just huffs out an exasperated, “I don’t wish to talk about it.”  
Regina drops the bag down on the bed, the contents spilling onto the comforter. She gives a curt, “Then don’t,” before seating herself beside Zelena. She is drawn from her stupor by her natural inquisitiveness and picks up one of the foreign objects. Her sister quirks a brow, “What? Haven’t you ever seen a book before?”  
Zelena turns the aged thing over in her hand, allowing her fingers to roam the cover. She opens it, flipping through the yellowed pages. The words jump and flip, tumbling through the paper in one large, convoluted mess. She’d tried learning to read once; her father had tossed the book in the fire, claiming that a woman of her station didn’t have the resources to indulge in such luxuries, that her place would always be by a hearth, cooking and cleaning and caring for a man. Regina on the other hand, most likely took such an ability for granted, as she did most gifts in her life. A privileged girl such as herself would have been taught her letters at a tender age. She won’t say as much to Regina though; hadn’t her pride already suffered enough for one day?  
Regina looks down at her hands clasped neatly in her lap, saying, “I thought it might be nice to have something to while away the hours. These are some of my favorites, so I figured…” She lets the thought hang in the air.  
“Thanks,” Zelena mutters half-heartedly. She shuffles through the pile, admiring the more creative and artistic drawings on the front, not comprehending the indecipherable titles. She comes across one that elicits a slight gasp from her. “What is this,” her tone is almost accusatory as she points to the cover of one volume which has an ugly green-skinned woman illustrated across the front. She shares no resemblance to the poor creature, save for the unfortunate complexion, yet knows it to be her.   
Regina runs a hand through her hair, hesitant in her response, “I came across that one before finding out about… us, and thought it was a neat spin off the original. This world, it has many tales of us and our lives, and though most are thoroughly and completely butchered, it is still fun to learn about.” When Zelena doesn’t deign to answer, she shifts uncomfortably before standing and brushing imaginary dirt from her spotless pantsuit. She excuses herself quietly, stating, “Well, I have to go start dinner.” Then, halfway to the door she pauses, exclaiming, “Oh, I almost forgot.” She reaches into her back pocket, procuring two pills.   
Zelena takes them in her hand, inspecting them two times over as if suspecting poison, “What are they?”  
Regina wears a smug smile, “I thought you didn’t want to speak of it.”  
Zelena gives the younger woman a pointed glare and Regina relents, “They’re prenatals. You take them while you’re pregnant to keep you and your baby healthy.”  
Zelena can feel moisture welling behind her eyes-damn hormones. No one has ever paid her such kindness. She busies herself with downing the capsules, so as to keep from making eye contact with Regina. When she thinks she can manage it without bursting into tears, she lets out a small, “Thank you.”  
Regina waves her hand in a humble gesture, “It is no trouble, really.” An awkward silence befalls the room and after excusing herself a final time, Regina exits, leaving the other woman to the books she cannot read and the encroaching madness beginning to overtake her mind.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to make this longer, but am absolutely swamped with homework. Come summer, I will be able to update more regularly and have larger chapters.

A lone figure ghosts on silent feet across the foggy graveyard, coming to stand before the solitary building at its heart. She is of slight frame and short stature, and had any poor soul been unfortunate enough to wander past the haunted expanse, she would have been indistinguishable from the spindly trees and emaciated monuments that dot the premises. But no one bothers to muddy their feet on this overcast, spring morning, leaving Belle alone with just a heavy conscious and the only weapon she is a master at wielding: a book. Still, she hesitates, unable to completely devote her entire being to the task at hand, unable to come to grips with the plaintive fact that what she is doing is morally wrong.  
She steels herself for the undertaking ahead. It is what should be done, what needs to be done. She had tried to remain ever compassionate and kind, caring and true. Belle’s patience had already been wearing thin when she’d been delivered the killing blow. Rumpelstiltskin-oh, her dear Rumple, her heart aches at the thought of him-had been drawing away from her, becoming cold and despondent. And that she could cope with, seeming to be a trend with the man; he experiences highs and lows like any person, even if his mood swings are a touch more extreme. She’d coaxed him tentatively from his foul tempers before and she sure as Hell could do it again. But this wasn’t the issue.  
The unforgivable betrayal had come into being during the passionate throes of their love-making. He had reached his climax, coming deep inside her and yet, had screamed another’s name, declared it loud and clear and unmistakable.  
Zelena.  
Would the witch never cease to plague her, to shred her life apart at the seams? Certainly if she did not take a stand against her evil.  
Rumpelstiltskin’s admission had hurt, had cut deep, and her first instinct had been to run from him, hate him for it even. Then realization had dawned. It wasn’t his fault. Her sweet Rumple couldn’t be at fault. Logically, it must be the witch. Belle berates herself for not having coming to this conclusion earlier. Rumple had not been himself since his incarceration at Zelena’s hands, had barely been able to look her in the eye.  
A spell. An incantation. A curse. A hex. It doesn’t matter, for she is going to lift it, free her dear husband. She daren’t tell a soul, for fear Zelena has the entire town wrapped around her finger. So she’d kept her intentions quiet, feigning anger at Rumple so as to keep his questions at bay. Then, she’d located a spell book, a thick leather volume with worn pages that had yellowed from age. One of the charms had the ability to open locked doors, just the thing she requires. She lifts the ancient script to her lips, blowing softly. The text leaps from the pages in an indistinguishable cloud of black ink, and the heavy oak door of Regina’s family mausoleum swings open on well-oiled hinges.  
She ventures a peek inside, scrutinizing the orderly chamber with a trained eye. Save for an unseemly clump of cobwebs splayed across the back window, the room seems to be clean and well-maintained, nothing amiss. She enters, placing an ungloved hand against the cool, metal casket. It shifts against her weight, making an awful scraping sound as it is pushes across the marble floor. She winces, pausing and straining an ear for anyone who could have heard the commotion. She is answered with a consuming silence, so substantial as to be palpable.  
Casting aside her fear, Belle descends into the depths of the vault. Despite the vast number of magical trinkets and oddities the queen had collected over the years, the area is really quite small. It doesn’t take her long to locate the item she had come for, and she thinks idly that Regina would do herself some good to keep her treasures better hidden.  
It is buried amongst a confusion of glowing hearts, but easy to distinguish from the rest due to its slight green cast. She takes the chest from its respective shelf, almost giddy as she lifts the lid. Nestled in a protective layer of velvet is the gem, a lurid emerald light spilling forth from its core. Zelena’s heart and soul, mind and magic contained in that single, small jewel. Zelena’s pendant.  
Now, the only thing left for her is to make the witch burn for her sins.  
…  
“Oh fuck, Robin!” Regina gasps as the thief’s hands find the zipper on the back of her dress, exploring her smooth skin, and coming to rest on full breasts.  
His mouth is wet and hot against her flushed flesh, trailing warm kisses from her lips, to her jaw, and down her neck. His free hand wanders over her thigh, sneaking under her skirt to squeeze her round ass. He growls out, “God, I love the clothes here.” The garments from the enchanted forest were much more elaborate and concealing, making easy access nigh on impossible. Regina doesn’t deign to respond, choosing instead to hum her assent as she nibbles at his lower lip.  
There is a distant call, so soft as to be nonexistent, “Regina.”  
Robin pauses in his ministrations and she breathes a husky, “Ignore it and maybe it will go away,” into his ear.  
Robin doesn’t need any more prompting and shoves her roughly onto the desk, folders and files flying from its surface and falling in a jumbled heap at their feet. Robin remembers himself, saying, “I’m sorry. I interrupted you. You were going to tell me something.”  
Regina pushes herself against him in her fervent need, eliciting an immediate response from his body, replying, “I’m sure it wasn’t important.” In actuality, she had planned to tell him something quite significant, having called him just to drop the news of Zelena’s pregnancy. Somehow, the topic had never been brought up and she had found herself drunk and half-naked in her office.  
Not thirty seconds later they hear the voice again, only it is louder and more insistent, “Regina!”  
Regina groans, and this time it is not the result of pleasure, but irritation, “Shit.”  
Robin smirks, pulling her onto her feet. He gives a dramatic flourishing bow, “Her majesty is being summoned.”  
Regina almost whimpers her disappointment. Dammit Zelena, she vigorously curses her sister as she rights her dress, smoothing out the wrinkles. Leaning in, she whispers, “I trust we can continue this upon my return.”  
Robin looks sheepishly down at his shoes, “My apologies, but I have a prior engagement and should be on my way. Leroy has invited Hook and I to go bulling.”  
Regina chuckles darkly, a low seductive rumble, “I’m going to throttle Zelena.” Then she adds, a touch more cheerfully, “Oh, and its bowling, not bulling.”  
Robin’s nose scrunches in that adorable way of his, “Are you certain? It seems a ridiculous name.” When Regina nods he asks, “Then may I borrow a bowl? I don’t want to show up unprepared.”  
Regina is in no mood to try to explain the sport, and so lets him take a plastic breakfast bowl.  
She resigns herself to having to deal with her sister, making the journey to her bedroom that much shorter by poofing herself there; better to get this over with.  
She enters to find Zelena struggling with the button on a pair of jeans. Regina raises her hands in exasperation, “What! What could you possibly want? And I swear Zelena, this had better be good because I was in the middle of something.”  
Zelena takes in her sister’s disheveled appearance, her disarrayed hair, smudged lipstick, creased dress, and the conspicuous finger prints running up her thigh and rolls her eyes, “Clearly.”  
Regina’s tone is warning, “Zelena.”  
Zelena drops the subject, voicing her own concern, “These pants don’t fit, but they were perfectly fine yesterday.”  
Regina’s eyes are scorching, pinning her sister in their deadly gaze, “Is that all you called me here for? Your pants don’t fit? So, wear another pair, or a dress or something.”  
Zelena sighs, “You’re missing the point. Don’t you think it is a little early for me to be showing already?”  
Regina approaches, not thinking to even ask permission to lift her shirt and see for herself this supposed baby bump. Sure enough, there is a slight bulge to Zelena’s abdomen where before it had been flat. True, it is the tiniest of differences, so little as to almost be imagined, but once Regina has seen it, she can’t seem to peel her eyes away. She makes an attempt at easing her sister’s concern, “Okay, maybe it doesn’t happen often, but I’m sure it isn’t unheard of for someone to start showing at ten weeks.”  
Zelena draws back, brows knitted in confusion, “Ten weeks? Regina, I’m barely at four.”  
Now Regina is flustered, “No, that can’t be right. Dr. Whale told me you were at about ten.” If she is truly at four weeks, then that would mean the baby is growing at an exponential rate. Perhaps by magic.  
Tears are beginning to form in Zelena’s icy blue eyes and her fear is almost radiating from her, “That is not possible. He made a mistake.”  
Regina is quick to refute her point, not wanting to accept the other possibilities filtering through her mind, “I know you aren’t familiar with this world’s technologies, but Whale wouldn’t have made such a drastic rounding error.”  
Zelena is sobbing now, “He must have. Rumple and I, we were only together one time, about four weeks ago.”  
Regina wants to comfort her, but it is lost on Zelena who is nearly hysterical, “Are you sure?”  
“Of course I’m sure,” Zelena snaps.  
Regina feels on the verge of panic and fights for a plausible explanation. The earliest a child could develop magic was at birth, but it more often made an appearance later in life. There hadn’t ever been an infant to wield the powerful force while still in the womb. But all rules have exceptions and why would the offspring of the Wicked Witch of the West and the Dark One be even remotely normal? She thinks to herself, this is a child borne of the devil himself. The anti-Christ.  
Demon Spawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd really appreciate comments because I'm still not sure I liked how this chapter turned out.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things:  
> 1\. I don't know yet if Regina is ever going to get pregnant in this fic, and if she does it is probably a long ways off. For this and one other reason that will not be mentioned, discredit the fact that Regina took that infertility potion.  
> 2\. As for the timeline, we are skipping Frozen and going straight to the Queens of Darkness. They should be showing up eventually. But, I get ahead of myself; as of now we're still in season 3.

It is all fun and games, laughs and giggles until it is happening to you. Zelena recalls vividly Rumple’s time with her, and how he’d spent the majority of it rendered a useless buffoon at the stripping of his sanity. Not even the great and powerful mind of the Dark One can withstand the strain of a second intellect, eating slowly away at his brain like acid on metal. And it had been so amusing then, watching him squirm with the trial of it.  
And now it is her suffering the unwanted presence of a foreign body, pressing in upon her mind until she thinks her brain may just collapse from the weight of it. She screams, the agony more than she can bear. She is barley aware of Regina’s panicked attendance beside her; what was it they were discussing before she’d dropped to the ground in a convulsing heap? Zelena is deaf to her sister’s distressed pleas, too loud are the voices resounding in her head. Pain laces behind her eyes as the clamor reaches an unbearable volume. The demons force their way in, ripping and tearing where there is not enough room to occupy them; her body rings with the intensity of it.  
It is a savage and brutal assault, and then they are battering her with visions.  
She is taken to another place, another time, suddenly seeing through the eyes of a foreign body, a body that is not her own. The sights, the sounds, the feelings are all too vivid, all too real to be discounted as a dream; memories, but those belonging to another.  
They come in flashes, quick snippets that combined together might be able to tell an entire story, but as it is, are just a jumble of puzzle pieces yet to be discerned.  
…A magnificent ivory gown, burdened with the weight of countless brilliant pearls, sewn with the finest silks and satins, intricate designs crafted from the most knowledgeable of hands running its length. The garment in itself must be worth a fortune, enough to feed an entire town. It is of a quality Zelena had never before borne witness to, let alone had the honor of wearing. Yet, the fabric feels tight and restricting around her, almost suffocating. It binds her, she realizes, is nothing more than a glorified tether and she wants nothing more than to rip from its stifling embrace…  
…The smiling child, her features a blur, as all the faces around her appear to be. Still, she can make out the slight curl of her lips, the amusement and merriment perched there, laughter threatening to spill forth in her joy. Happy, shining eyes, deep pools that reflect her naivety in the way they glow with such intensity. How can she find it within herself to smile? To retain such a childish innocence after suffering the onslaught of cruelties this world had thrown upon her? How? When she herself was so miserable…  
…It is a lesson hard learned and a long time a coming: be careful what you wish for. The suppressing cloth of her dress now replaced with unwanted, searching hands. She lies naked and exposed, enduring the mistreatment in silent agony. He pays no mind to the tears running down her porcelain cheeks or the blood trickling down her thighs. Rough, bruising fingers dig into delicate flesh, leaving unseemly purple marks. Surely the bruises are plain to see, but if anyone ever bothers to notice, they don’t care enough to speak out against the injustice. They are content to live out their inferior lives enwrapped in the comforts of an unearned inheritance, and don’t dare threaten their prestigious positions for the plight of one unfortunate girl. Not that it is their business anyway; the king’s property is his to do with what he wishes. And his new bride’s feelings on the matter be damned…  
…It is an absurd tool, made off balance by the heavy weight of several wanton, glittering jewels to be of any use in a proper battle. The dagger being for design only, a mantelpiece meant for little more than cutting fruit. She has no mind for such frivolities, but despite the hilt’s impractical weight and awkward handle, the blade’s edge is still sharp enough to draw blood. And that is precisely what she intends to do, placing the cool metal to her wrist. She watches with a sort of mesmerized fascination as crimson pours from the fresh wound. It cascades down her arms, staining her expensive dress beyond salvation; she couldn’t care less. It is only a flesh wound, but if she applies just a touch more pressure, her desolation will cease forever, her wretched life becoming little more than a distant memory, just another name to be memorized in the history books. But, she can’t bring herself to do the deed and crumples to the ground in a sobbing mess. It is not that she fears the eternal slumber that awaits her with cold, outstretched arms, but that she was born a fighter. Resilient. A damnable quality. And so, no matter the number of times she falls, is stepped upon, kicked as a reminder of her lowly origins, fucked like the whore she tells herself she is, she will continually pull herself up and forge on. Such is her curse…  
Zelena gasps as she returns to her own body, her mind finally quieting, and the sudden silence is deafening. She wipes absently at her brow, and finds it to be drenched in sweat. She is exhausted, mentally and physically drained.  
Regina’s incessant, frightened voice cuts through the drowsiness fogging her conscience, “Zelena! Zelena, are you alright? What happened?”  
Zelena’s head is spinning and her words form an incoherent jumble, “It’s the baby… she showed me… the voices… it was her… and someone else was there…she has magic… strong magic… a seer maybe… the voices… and visions.”  
Her body aches, the ordeal having caused searing pain to course through her veins.  
Regina, for her part, looks more alarmed than bewildered, the confusion having given way to terror, “I need to find out what is wrong with you, with the,” she avoids using the word “baby” and Zelena wonders at it, “fetus. I need to do some research.”  
Zelena places a hand to her roiling stomach, feeling a sudden stab of maternal love for the parasite leaching from her, despite her better judgment, “You think you can figure it out?”  
There is a hopeful gleam in Regina’s eyes, “No. Not alone. I’m going to require some help.”  
…  
Emma’s breath comes in great, heaving huffs as she drives her body further, the burning in her legs becoming ever more sever. Despite the chill that lingers in the late morning air, there is sweat soaking through her tank top. Her focus falls from counting her footsteps to regretting eating that bear claw in place of some fruit and yogurt for breakfast. Her rigorous exercise is interrupted by the ring of her phone, and she can’t help but feel the slightest bit grateful as she sinks onto one of the rigid park benches.  
She all but pants into the speaker, “Was‘up Gee.”  
She can almost hear Regina roll her eyes on the other end of the line, “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that, Swan?”  
Emma grins, overcome with a sense of satisfaction at the idea that them constantly at each others’ throats had turned into playful bickering, “Oh, come on! We’re practically partners; partners have to have nicknames for each other.”  
Regina chuckles darkly, “I could think of a few for you. But, that is not why I called. I need your help with something important and I need your word that this will stay in the strictest of confidences.”  
Emma groans, “Of course you do. Why can’t you ever call to ask to hang out or something, you know, get our nails done, go to a spa, go shopping-”  
Regina is growing impatient, “Emma.”  
Emma stands again, despite her protesting muscles, “Right. Sorry. So, what’s up this time?”  
Regina, ever the uncooperative one, just says, “Why don’t you come over and see for yourself?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's short. That is what happens when I update on a Wednesday night.
> 
> To anyone who is a GoldenQueen shipper I highly recommend the fic "Shatter" by x_virtueofvice_x. Even if you're not into that pairing, you'd still love it because it is perhaps one of the best works I've come across;the characters are layered deeply and the writing style is out of this world. Seriously, READ IT!


	8. Chapter 8

“So… We taking bets on what color the kid is gonna be?” Emma finally breaks the heavy silence that has befallen the room. Her face is screwed in an expression of consternation as she gapes openly at the slight bump on Zelena’s abdomen, gaze one of intense concentration. Zelena, for her part, has the audacity to appear mortified by the notion, her hand flying to cover what little evidence she has of her pregnancy. Regina pins the blonde with a pointed glare, working to conceal her amused smile behind a mask of resentment. She lands a well-placed blow to Emma’s ribs with her elbow, applying slightly more force than is strictly necessary. The princess doubles over, all the air evacuating her lungs in one undignified, “Whoosh.” And Regina thinks that perhaps it was for the best that she had cast the curse when she had, effectively saving the residents of the Enchanted Forest from the fate of becoming the subjects to an inept, if incompetent leader.  
She chastises the younger woman, “Emma, some finesse, please. You’ve about as much tact as an enraged bull in the ring.”  
Emma shuffles her feet, staring down at her toes with her hands stuffed into her pockets, looking for all the world like a scolded child, “Right. Sorry. I suppose congratulations are in order.”  
Zelena bows her head, accepting the apology with all the grace her stubborn pride would allow, “Thank you.”  
Regina rubs her temples, a headache coming on. Now, if only to get these petulant children to not only be civil, but work in harmony together. To her astonishment, Zelena is first to broach the subject, “So, do you have a plan? Or did you just haul the savior over here to observe me like I’m some museum exhibit?”  
Regina bites out through gritted teeth, “Zelena, that was never my intention. We need Emma’s help.”  
Now the blonde seems truly flustered, “What plan? Help with what?”  
If Regina didn’t know better, she’d say Zelena looks slightly embarrassed, “Nothing. We don’t require assistance.”  
Emma’s inquisitive gaze meets the mayor’s annoyed one, “So you asked me to come over just to tell me Zelena got knocked up?”  
Regina has to fight the unladylike urge to roll her eyes, “No, Emma stay. We do have need of you. Zelena is just being humble because that is all she is used to.”  
The insult of Zelena’s previous status hits home and the redhead shoots her sister a spiteful glare, hissing out a venomous, “And I’m sorry Regina is being so demanding; it’s the only way she knows how to behave.” She imitates a snobbish royal ordering about her servants, “Cynthia, fetch me some water. I am simply parched. I think I may just keel over from the heat. Carol, fan me. Thomas, I haven’t the strength to walk. Carry me. You… what’s your face? Yes, you, stable boy. David, is it? Oh, right, Daniel, I meant. Fuck me.” Zelena smiles at her own whit, oblivious to her sister’s rising ire.  
Emma doesn’t think she’d ever seen Regina’s eyes burn with such intense fury, and has to intervene when Regina makes to advance upon the snide woman. And before she can stop her, flames are leaping from the queen’s practiced fingers and she snarls, “Listen here, you little shit. Don’t you ever speak of Daniel.”  
Zelena doesn’t look the least bit concerned, just snorts derisively, “Do it. I dare you.”  
And Regina has half a mind to end her miserable life, right then and there, but for one, she’d also be murdering an innocent, an idea that disturbs her far more than she is willing to admit. For two, she can see Zelena isn’t just being idly cruel; she wants it, yearns for Regina to pull the trigger. She can see herself reflected in her sister’s face and it terrifies her more than it ought. And for that reason she takes pity on her, closing her hand and depriving the fire in her palm of its much needed oxygen, whispering, “It’s not worth it.”  
The two women seem to have forgotten about the savior’s presence, and she clears her throat, bringing their attention back to the problem at hand; she’s always hated playing the part of the mediator. Her voice trembles slightly, the recent turn of events more than a little unsettling, “Other than you two being at each other’s throats, what do you need my help for?”  
There is still a sour expression painted across Regina’s features, but she does what she does best and conceals her roiling emotions, directing her attention to where it is most required, “Zelena has been experiencing some disconcerting side-effects.”  
Emma lets out a small laugh, “You mean like vomiting, weight gain, and hormones that put her in a foul mood? Oh wait, that last one is not new is it?”  
Zelena’s words are absolutely dripping with sarcasm, “You are so amusing.”  
Regina ignores the interruptions, “I mean like severe bleeding, the fetus growing at an exponential rate, and spontaneous visions.”  
Emma is stunned into silence and only manages a small, “Oh.” Then, “Bleeding? Are you-”  
“Okay?” Zelena finishes for her. When Emma only nods, she adds, “Okay isn’t really the word I’d use, but if you were referring to my physical health, then, yes. Whale took care of it.”  
Emma digests that before moving on to what is, presumably, the second most alarming development on the list, “Visions?”  
The only affirmation she receives from Zelena is a meek, “Yes.”  
Emma prods for more information, “And?”  
Zelena grows indignant and Emma fears she has just provoked another outburst, but the redhead just shrugs, “I don’t know. Everything was so… blurry. I couldn’t make sense of anything.”  
Emma seems somehow disappointed, “Nothing? You can tell me absolutely nothing? Not the faces? Or the events?”  
Zelena just stares ahead, not seeing. Finally she says, “The faces? No. Like I said earlier, they were muddled. For all I know they aren’t even real. The events? I know what happened, not that I could understand it. There was a wedding.” She purposefully forgets to mention the gory details of the aftermath.  
Now Emma appears to be utterly baffled and if this wasn’t such a grave situation, Regina would think it comical. She tilts her head, loose strands of blond hair working their way out from behind her ear, “A wedding? Why a wedding of all things? That doesn’t make any fucking sense whatsoever.”  
Zelena looks just as perplexed, “How the Hell should I know?”  
Emma is about to ask how she knows these ‘visions’ are a result of the baby, but realizes such a comment could be taken the wrong way and so bites her tongue. Instead, she inquires of the final dilemma on their already infinite list of grievances, “And the baby? You say it’s growing at an accelerated rate?”  
Regina is the one to answer, “Yes, and the reason I called you here. Now tell me, Emma. Have you been practicing your Elvish?”  
Emma is taken aback by the sudden change in topic, “Um, yeah, sure… I guess.”  
Regina flashes a brilliant smile, displaying a positive energy that is somehow out of place in this situation, “Wonderful.”  
Emma seems to wonder what the mayor is getting at, but doesn’t question her, “Well, I’m hardly fluent.”  
Regina, who had expected as much, says, “That is just as well, Dear. You Zelena? How’s your Elvish?”  
Zelena makes a “so-so” gesture with her hand, “Eh, not so good. I can read it, but it is often slow and choppy.” She doesn’t, however, add in, “I never learned English though.”  
Regina’s eyes widen in disbelief, “How? You were Rumple’s student; you should practically be an expert.”  
Zelena works to hide her fury, “I was more of a hands on type learner. You were good with books. That is just how it is.” She doesn’t pause to consider that maybe her difficulty with grasping such a complex language had stemmed from not first mastering English. Apparently Rumple hadn’t either because he’d mistaken her inexperience for stupidity and had avoided the books and scrolls as well as he could.  
Regina sighs, “That throws a small dent into my plan, but we will just have to manage.”  
…  
Belle starts when she glances up from her work to find Rumple standing not five feet from her. For an invalid, he sure can move across the room lithely. She abruptly shuts the book she had been studying- a text about magical talismans, ones such as Zelena’s pendant. She takes a moment to be thankful that she’d hidden the necklace- she’d replaced the real one in the vault with a carefully crafted facsimile- among her undergarments in her sock drawer, and therefore does not have it in front of her.  
Rumple observes her peculiar behavior, commenting, “Belle, if I’m not pleasing you in bed, you can just tell me instead of looking for it in other forms,” and gestures towards the book.  
Belle blushes wildly, quick to object, “No, no, no. That’s not what the book was about. You see, it was just very… boring.”  
His light smile had suggested he was only teasing and Belle’s overreaction signified that she was, indeed hiding something. “Boring?” he echoes, thinking the description rather crude.  
“Yes, boring,” Belle doesn’t offer any more information on the matter.  
“May I see the book which has dared to slight you in such a way?” the inquiry seems innocent enough and she can’t deny him without invoking further suspicions, so she slides the book to him. He studies the cover, brows lifted in confusion. He says, “Enlighten me. I can’t seem to fathom why you would be reading this.” When Belle doesn’t answer, he draws his own conclusion, “Zelena.”  
Belle’s only response is a choked sob and Rumple looks up to find tears streaking down her face. He goes to her, wrapping her in his arms and she melts into his touch. Her voice is muffled by his coat, “I just want you back. She took you and I just want you to be mine again.”  
He doesn’t argue because he can’t; ever since his imprisonment he had been distant, not giving all of himself to his wife as he should. Instead he says, “Don’t go near the pendant. It holds dangers beyond your imagining. It is okay to be angry with Zelena, with me. Just promise me you won’t touch that pendant.”  
She meets his gaze, watery eyes shining. She caresses his cheek, whispering, “I’m not angry with you. I love you. And for that reason, I vow to never go near that pendant.”  
It is the first promise she has ever broken.  
…  
“Where did you acquire this?” Zelena holds up the bottle containing newt’s tongue, a rare ingredient, nigh on impossible to find in Oz.  
Regina never looks up from the book she’s buried in, “It is more common in the Enchanted Forest than in Oz.”  
Zelena rolls her eyes, “Figures.”  
“You should be working. This whole ordeal is about you after all.” Regina scolds. The three women had gone to Regina’s vault in search of any information about Zelena’s pregnancy. Emma and Zelena would scan for key words, and when they found something of promise, hand it to Regina to look over in greater detail.  
Zelena is going to offer a rebuttal, but is assaulted by another onslaught of visions. Although they are still blurry, she recognizes the scenes easily enough, as this time they are her own memories.  
…She hears the wail of the newborn child, not her child, never her child. Her child is cold and stiff, the hard-packed earth forever silencing his cries. And something inside of her has broken, no shattered-broken things can often be repaired, pieced back together until they’re good as new. And though, Zelena’s youthful body had been quick to heal, that thing inside of her would never be right again, never be whole. And that is when she realizes, that part is neither broken, nor shattered, but missing completely. It resides within her womb as a consuming emptiness, signifying the terrible, crippling absence of life, the very thing in which it is meant to nurture. She can never bear a child. What use is she? What purpose is she to fulfill? Monster. Threat to life. Dangerous. Inadequate. Whore. Wicked.  
And as she observes the young couple from within the shadows of their meager porch, she begins to experience a new and all too intense emotion: jealousy. It rises from within the depth of her being and she realizes what she had thought to be an alien intruder was actually a familiar friend. It had been lying just beneath her skin, coiled to strike at the opportune moment. So strong is the envy that she is forced to turn from the scene of the proud parents coddling their infant, or else lose control of the magic coursing through her veins like poison.  
Alas, it is two minutes too late, as the next morning she awakens to the sorrowful keening of the couple paired with the heavy silence of the child; the babe never makes another peep, leaving the world as inconspicuously as it had arrived. And Zelena lets the tears flood down her cheeks as she rocks herself back in forth, whimpering. She hadn’t meant to; it had been an honest mistake. But, her father is right. She can’t control her magic. She isn’t safe. She’s wicked…  
…It was only a matter of time. She could only endure her father’s abuse for so long before she snapped. Those words, his words echo in her head. After hearing him title her “wicked” for so long, she’d finally asked the question that had plagued her mind for equally as long, “How can you say that to your own daughter?” Of course, what she really meant was, “How can you do these sick things to your own daughter? How can you force these things from me, demand my body whenever you fancy having a cheap fuck?” Of course, that had never escaped her lips. They’d never, in all of their years, discussed what went on between them. It had never been mentioned, let alone acknowledged. So, she hadn’t dared broach the subject then.  
She’d expected a violent display of authority after her outburst, but hadn’t received it. Instead, she’d heard the sentence she’d never thought possible, “Because you’re not my daughter!”  
Not his daughter. Therefore not related. Her baby had died for naught. Slaughtered because her ‘father’ would rather spend the money on whiskey than having another mouth to feed. Zelena has never known such blind rage…  
Zelena is sobbing when she comes to, Regina’s arms wrapped tightly around her. The queen wipes idly at a stray tear, “Does it hurt?”  
Yes. Yes, it hurts like Hell. But no worse than the last time. She aches, and her body shivers from the effort. She shakes her head, giving a feeble, “I’ll be alright.” But she is not alright. Far from it. Aside from the sharp pain accompanied by reopened wounds, she comes to a slightly disturbing realization. The procedure had turned her barren. So, what exactly is she carrying now within her?  
She doesn’t have time to ponder the thought though, because Emma has come screeching in from an adjoining room in the vault, brandishing a triumphant smile, “I think I found something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a skeleton popped out.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the huge delay between updates. The last couple weeks of school were hectic. But, now it's summer and I have nothing better to do than write fan fiction. Then I'm starting high school. Ugh. Not looking forward to that.  
> WARNING: This chapter contains large amounts of fluff, mentions of some epic bands, and some really corny attempts at humor (Sorry, I just can't help myself)

Emma had stumbled upon a large, leather bound volume and its purpose is unmistakably obvious, what with it bearing a perfect depiction of the Dark One’s dagger across the front. Saying that the book had fallen into disrepair is an understatement; the ancient tome is coming apart at the hinges, the pages losing their fragile hold on the binding, the cover coated in a thick layer of dust, and the text so faded it is hardly legible.   
Regina peels back the cover with a tenderness and deliberateness she usually only reserves for young children, for whom she seems to have ever standing patience. She flips to a random page that seems to have fared better than the others, for it still clings to the spine with a resilience unbeknownst to the rest of the sheets, its finely printed lettering still intact. Emma’s eyes wander over the script and she frowns when she doesn’t recognize any of the words, not a one.  
She finally voices her question, “Is this Elvish?”  
Regina nods her affirmation, “Yes.”  
“So you can understand it?” Emma ventures.  
The reply is simple enough, “No.”  
Emma processes this, “Hmm. Why?”  
“A different dialect,” Regina laughs, a humorless sound, “A very old dialect.”  
Zelena remarks, seemingly disinterested, “So, Emma, you’ve found nothing?”  
Emma looks sheepish, but Regina is quick to reassure her, “Not necessarily. I’m sure, given time, I could decipher this,” she seems to wilt as she states this, like the very idea of tackling the daunting task has aged her.   
Zelena, ever suspicious, demands, “Where did you even acquire this?”  
Regina shrugs, and the casual gesture looks awkward on her dignified shoulders, “To be perfectly honest, I haven’t a clue.” She reconsiders, “Well, actually, it might be Rumple’s. Or, at least it was before I took it in the curse, along with the rest of his junk.”  
Emma raises a brow, “And he was fine with you having these things?”  
This time Regina’s chuckle carries real mirth, “Hardly. But, he had to let me take some of the things I found to be a potential threat-or that I just desired-to make it appear that I was in control when I cast the curse. Sacrifice, I suppose.”   
Emma says, “And what is it exactly?”  
“A book,” Regina states matter-o-factly. Emma glares and Regina sobers up, “Well, considering it has the Dark One’s emblem on it and it is who knows how old, I’d say it was written when the Dark One first came into creation. But of course, that is just speculation.”  
Emma grapples for comprehension, “So, what? Like a manual for being the Dark One?”  
Regina sighs, “Sort of.”  
The bearer of bad news interjects once again with a derisive comment, “What does it matter where it came from? It’s not as if it is going to be the least bit helpful.”  
Zelena does make a valid point; so far their search had been fruitless. Sure, there had been numerous articles regarding odd pregnancies, and even a few dedicated to the elusive being known as the Dark One, but the two subjects never coincided. As far as they are concerned, the Dark One isn’t even capable of producing children.   
Regina cradles the book in the crook of her arm, “We won’t know until we read it.”  
Emma seems doubtful, “Are you sure you can decipher it?”  
Regina just smiles, opening a chest that contains a multitude of ingredients and elixirs, “I may have some magic up my sleeve.”  
…  
Zelena stirs in bed as the heavens above heave and clash as if locked in a fierce, bloody battle. There is the resounding boom of thunder followed by the shudder of the earth. Zelena gazes about the room, black as pitch, as rain hurls itself at the windows, a violent wind threatening to disembowel the entire house. A crack of lighting momentarily illuminates the area and Zelena thinks she can just make out the outline of some alien form before the creature is once again shrouded in darkness.   
Her eyes dart skeptically from corner to corner, dissecting the shadows for an imaginary predator. She places a hand to her roiling stomach, nausea fighting to get past her lips, the medicine Whale had prescribed her for her extreme morning sickness rendered useless as the babe inside her kicks in furious protest. And Zelena can share the child’s unease; she’d always hated storms.   
She lets her eyelids fall shut, but the raging weather won’t permit sleep and she can’t escape the feeling that an evil has slipped into the room to study her prone form as she slumbers. If only to quiet her distrustful mind, she moves to turn on the light, but to no avail. Power is out. Shit.   
Knowing full well that she can’t drift off into an easy sleep in her current state, she takes the opportunity to fetch a glass of water from the kitchen. As she descends the stairs, she becomes aware of a lingering chill, a suppressing presence that is more than just the result of the heating not being in service. Her feet pad silently across the wooden floors and she wishes for a warm, fluffy pair of socks with which to defreeze her toes.  
As she passes the study, she half expects Regina to still be bent over her work, searching doggedly for answers on her “condition”, but the queen is nowhere in sight. A dim light filters in from the living room and as she approaches, she realizes that Regina is, indeed, still set about the task brought to her, and had merely migrated to a more comfortable area.  
A cozy fire licks at the logs in the extravagant hearth and an array of candles burn, emanating a slight glow and an appealing fragrance. Zelena observes soundlessly from the doorway and so is surprised when she hears her sister state, “There is a blanket on the couch if you are cold,” without ever glancing up from the book. Zelena takes this as an invitation and snuggles into the couch with the afghan tucked around her slim frame. She watches intently as Regina works, gloved hands wielding a soft brush, cleaning debris that had accumulated on the delicate pages of the book.   
She pretends mild interest, “What are you doing?”  
“I’m going to translate this foreign tongue, but to do that, I need to first restore the book to its former glory,” she answers.  
“Since when do you know how to restore books?” Zelena inquires incredulously.   
Regina pauses, considers. Then, “Well, I’m to be restoring the cover. The pages are only salvageable through magic means. I’m using an elixir that top-notch detectives would apply to a crime scene in our land; it reveals something that has faded. As for the cover, you tend to learn a lot of useless crap when you sit idly for eighteen years.”  
A companionable silence befalls the room and Zelena thinks that the rain is a bit less menacing in the company of her sister. “I’m sorry I was such a pain in the ass today,” she finally admits.  
Regina chuckles, “That’s quite alright, dear. I’m used to it by now.”  
Normally Zelena would have bit out some sly comment, but the guilt had been weighing on her all day, “No, it’s not alright. I went too far. I shouldn’t have said those things about Daniel.”  
When Regina doesn’t respond, Zelena should have taken it as hint to drop the subject, but she just can’t help herself, “If you could have him back, be with him again, how would you feel about that?”  
Regina’s features are surprisingly expressionless-there is no anger or resentment or even longing and sadness. She whispers, barely audible, as if she doesn’t want to disturb the tranquil atmosphere that has penetrated the air, “It does no good to think of such things.”  
A peaceful quiet descends upon them and Zelena draws her knees up as Regina continues her work. After a few minutes of this Zelena blurts out, “I’m going to be a terrible mother.”  
Regina scoffs, “What would prompt you to even think something so outrageous?”  
Zelena gestures at herself, like she is some abomination, a freak of nature, “Just look at me. You said it yourself once. I’m just like her.”  
Regina shakes her head, discarding her chemical ridden gloves to sit next to Zelena and lay a comforting hand on her, “No, there is one important difference.” She places a hand over the red-head’s chest where her heart continues to beat rhythmically.   
There is genuine remorse in her tone, “It is black with hatred and jealousy.”  
Regina smiles reassuringly, “So was mine and I raised Henry just fine. Well, mostly.”  
Zelena rolls her eyes, rubbing a hand absently over her rapidly growing abdomen; it is still able to be concealed by a heavy coat or baggy shirt, but she suspects that won’t last for long, “I feel so much better.”  
Lightning flashes outside the window chased by a crack of thunder that causes Zelena to start. Regina eyes her, “Don’t like storms?”  
There is no amusement at having discovered a potential weakness, just innocent curiosity. Nevertheless, Zelena becomes defensive, “It’s not as if I’ve had the best track record when it comes to storms.” She references the cyclone that plucked her from the ground and tosses her into the unforgiving Land of Oz.  
Then Regina does something Zelena thought she would never witness, “I’m afraid of storms too.”  
“What?” Zelena fancies the idea of a queen being scared of a little rain and wind an absurd notion, but stranger things have happened, such as said queen having admitted to the fear in the first place.  
“I’ve never much cared for powers stronger than myself. Fortune has never favored me. Why should storms be any different? Then, to make matters worse, the night I was tricked into thinking Daniel,” and her voice catches in her throat, “could be resurrected, it was storming. And that was one of the scariest experiences in my life, so I suppose I just associate storms with negative things.”  
“My mother used to hold me and sing during a rain,” and both women present know Zelena isn’t speaking of Cora. “She was an amazing, compassionate, kind-hearted, and intelligent woman, my mother. I loved her more than anything else in the world.”  
Now it is Regina’s turn to probe more than she should, “What happened?”  
A stray tear slides down Zelena’s cheek, “Fever took her. When I was twelve.”  
Regina is apologetic, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”  
There is something broken that rises within Zelena as she stares into the depths of the flames as if searching for answers, “Of course you didn’t. How could you of? Who else would tell you?”  
Regina, hoping to draw her sister from her sorrow, accidently reopens a wound that runs deeper than the last, “And your father?”  
When Zelena doesn’t respond, she stands to return to her monotonous work, squeezing her sister’s limp hand as she says, “Zelena, we’re more alike than you know.”  
Regina doesn’t know what rouses Zelena from her stupor, but sometime later she broaches a new subject, “Could you teach me to read?”  
Regina’s fingers pause in their work, and she regards Zelena as if she has sprouted a second head, “Come again?”  
Zelena picks at a clump of fuzz that had accumulated on the afghan, “You heard me.”  
Regina is baffled, “Zelena, you already know how to read.”  
“No. I don’t actually. I never learned. Or rather my father never allowed me to learn,” she admits, if somewhat reluctantly.  
A million other questions arise in Regina’s head, but those can wait until Zelena is a touch more stable. In the meantime she simply says, “It’d be an honor to teach you.”  
Another clap of thunder interrupts them and before considering the thought, Zelena spits out, “Would it be alright if I sleep with you tonight?”  
She expects to be teased and taunted, for her idea to be discarded or even laughed at, but Regina just responds with, “That is fine with me, so long as you don’t try and stab me in my sleep. It is late anyhow; we should get to bed.” She leans down to puff out the candles.  
Zelena looks on awkwardly before announcing, “Thanks. I’m going to go grab a pillow.”  
Regina answers with, “And I’m going to empty my room of any sharp objects and potential weapons.”  
Zelena pins her with a glare and then they both begin laughing, relishing the small moment of light-hearted jesting.  
…  
“A,” Zelena responds when Regina holds up the card. She goes through the remainder of the stack, “E. I. O. U. The vowels.”   
Regina nods her encouragement, “Very good.”  
Zelena is impatient, “I know all this. Can’t we start reading a book?”  
Regina tsks her tongue, “You know the titles, but not the sounds they make. Besides, I think you’ve had enough practice for one day. You also need to get ready for dinner.”  
Zelena sighs, “Do you really think it’s wise to be telling everyone. I mean, before Rumple knows.”  
Regina regards her as she might a petulant child, “It’s his own damn fault for not listening to you when you tried to tell him. And if Snow finds out by just happening to see you waltzing down the street wearing your maternity outfit and brandishing the new stroller you bought, I will never hear the end of it. So get your lazy ass dressed and be down in thirty.”  
Zelena glances down at her apparel and feels a sudden wave of disgust when she realizes that she has been wearing nothing but pajamas for the past two weeks. She has got to get out more. She chooses a shirt that conceals the bump well enough and a pair of pants that still fit before making her way down stairs.   
Regina is slaving away over the stove and a concoction of mouthwatering aromas drift from the kitchen. Henry sits at the dining table, sipping what appears to be apple juice. She freezes at the sight of him, their last run-in having been less than ideal. If her memory proves correct, she had threatened to kill him and his family before being scalded by the savior’s light magic. Sure, the kid had spent plenty of time at his adoptive mother’s house in the past couple weeks, but during such times Zelena stayed in her room with the door locked-from the outside, she might add-and visits from her sister were few and far in between.   
He looks up, meets her gaze, and frowns, “Uh, hi.”  
“Hello,” she greets awkwardly. “Sorry for almost choking you to death” seems a bit too cliché, but what comes from her mouth is perhaps an even worse way to start a conversation, “You don’t have to call me Auntie Zelena. Or even Aunt Zelena for that matter. Plain old Zelena is fine. Unless, of course, you want to call me Aunt Zelena. In that case, you’re more than welcome.”  
He blinks several times, “Okay. Aunt Zelena.”  
Henry’s gaze wanders the room and she can tell he is trying to avoid making eye-contact because that is exactly what she is trying to do. Finally, he works up the guts to manage a single, monosyllabic word, “So.”  
She raises her brows and responds just as eloquently, “So.”  
Henry continues the thought, “So do you have a favorite band?”  
Zelena mulls this over, then replies with a resounding, “No.”  
He cocks his head, “Did mom show you any of the music of this land?”  
Regina calls from the kitchen, “Henry, I’ve been a little preoccupied with more pressing matters.”  
Henry’s face lights up at getting to introduce Zelena to something new and exotic and his apprehension melts away, “Cool.” He blows caution to the wind, grabbing the witch’s hand to guide her into the living room where his iPod is.   
Before he can, Regina puts her two cents in, “Just please, no Marilyn Manson.”  
He looks offended, “Come on mom. Don’t pretend I didn’t catch you rocking out to the Beautiful People in your car last week.”  
Within the next 20 minutes Zelena is introduced to the glory that is Korn, System of a Down, Marilyn Manson, Rammstein, Linkin Park, Coal Chamber, and Disturbed.   
By the time the doorbell rings, Zelena is singing along to the chorus of Down With the Sickness and when Regina strides into the living room to answer the door, she mumbles something that sounds a lot like, “And if she wasn’t homicidal and self-pitying before.”   
It’s Emma and when she enters, she treats the situation with open curiosity rather than distrust, “I see they’re getting along.”   
Regina purses her lips, “Henry is determined to turn Zelena into a hardcore metal head and at the rate they’re going, she’ll be moshing by tomorrow afternoon.”  
“Adorable,” she laughs before getting distracted by the tune blasting from Henry’s speakers, “It’s sugar by System of a Down. I love that song.” She then proceeds to begin singing the lyrics in a loud and raucous manner and Regina retreats back into the kitchen to finish prepping dinner.   
Another ten minutes pass and there is yet another knock at the door. It’s Robin with Roland in tow. “Gina!” Roland calls, holding his arms out in a way that indicates he wants to be held.  
Robin taps him gently, chastising, “You’re too big for that now.” But, Regina pays him no mind, already in the process of scooping the child into her arms. Robin is about to object, but is stopped when Regina makes a come-hither gesture and the trio go into the kitchen.  
Robin produces the bowl he had borrowed and hands it to Regina, “Turns out, you don’t need a bowl to do bowling. Strange.”  
Regina chuckles, “So, how’d you do?”  
Roland pipes up, “I beat daddy.”  
Robin snatches his son from Regina and begins tickling him, “I thought we agreed not to talk about it.”   
Roland, giggling loudly, dashes from the room and it seems Robin is going to pursue, but Regina halts him, “There is something important I’ve been meaning to tell you.” She had wanted him to be one of the first to be aware of Zelena’s pregnancy.  
Robin scratches at his head sheepishly, “Oh, yeah. Sorry, I kinda interrupted you last time-” The doorbell rings again, cutting him off. Regina apologizes before leaving the thief to welcome the new guests. It’s the Uncharmings, appearing haggard and downright fatigued. David is a walking zombie and Mary Margaret looks more than a little frustrated as she shushes her newborn son, the infant wailing his indignant protest.   
Regina takes the babe, cooing softly, causing him to fall silent almost immediately. Snow just stares in wonder, mouth agape, “But, how did you-”  
Regina thinks back to the time their roles were reversed, just days after she’d adopted Henry and the teacher had been able to soothe him when his own mother couldn’t and replies simply, “Karma.” She bounces him slightly, then considers aloud, “Have you given the little brat a name yet?”  
She expects Snow to oppose the title she’d applied to him, but it had been said with such loving affection, so Snow just shrugs, “No.”  
Regina seems surprised, “Snow, he’s going to be crawling before you know it; he needs a name.”  
Snow reminds, “He is only two weeks old.”  
Regina becomes thoughtful, “Has it really been just two weeks? Well, no matter. I just hope you aren’t actually going to name him Leopold.”  
Snow is offended, “What is wrong with that?”  
Regina scoffs, “Did you really just ask that?”  
Davis speaks up for the first time, “Don’t worry, Regina. I’m putting my foot down on this. The kid is not gonna be named Leopold.”  
From the couch, Emma notices her parents’ entrance for the first time and rises to greet her brother. Henry turns to Zelena, “I’ve never understood why women are mesmerized by babies. What’s so interesting about them?”  
Zelena laughs, laying a hand to her abdomen, then remembering herself, pulls it away. It’s too late, though. Henry caught the movement and his eyes widen in disbelief. “You’re pregnant,” it is phrased as a statement, not a question.   
Zelena contemplates denying it, but he was going to find out tonight anyway, “My, aren’t we perceptive. So Regina wasn’t lying when she bragged about how intelligent you are.”   
Normally, he’d politely accept the compliment, but is too shocked to do so at the moment, “So, who’s the father? Wait, that was probably really rude. What I meant was congratulations.”  
She beams, finding comfort in his genuine sincerity, “Thank you, Henry.”  
Regina claps her hands, gathering everyone’s attention, “Now that we’re all here, why don’t we all go to the dining room. Henry, will you set the table, please?”  
“On it,” he says, jumping up from the sofa, but not before flashing a reassuring smile at his Aunt.  
Snow catches sight of Zelena for the first time and mutters a hushed, “What is she doing here?” Charming has to tell her to play nice.  
Zelena and Regina are the last to filter into the tastefully decorated room and only two seats remain: one next to Snow and one beside Henry. Zelena figures Regina would want to sit by Henry and resigns herself to getting her head chewed off by Snow, but Henry beckons Zelena over to him. She takes the proffered escape and slips into the chair, leaving a flustered Regina standing in the middle of the room. After she processes her son’s rejection and her sister’s betrayal, she gives both a pointed glare, the Evil Queen momentarily slipping past her exterior, before sighing and seating herself next to Snow. Emma notices the exchange, snickering, “Since when are you two buddy-buddy?” They both shrug innocently.   
Dinner is awkward. No one dares to speak as they shovel divine chicken and buttery mashed potatoes into their mouths. Henry makes a couple of failed attempts at conversation, “Mom, the food is wonderful.”  
Regina is proud of her excellent culinary skills, “Isn’t that always the case? Anyway, thank you Henry. I’m glad you appreciate it.”  
Snow adds, “How did you become such marvelous a cook? When I was a girl everything you made was either burnt or poisoned.”  
Though the teasing is light, there is a rigidness to the atmosphere. Regina’s tone is dripping with sarcasm, “Ha, ha. Very funny, Snow. Everyone is laughing.” In answer to Snow’s inquiry, she echoes the words Zelena had heard her say two nights prior, “You tend to learn a lot of useless crap when you sit idly for eighteen years.”  
“Twenty-eight years,” Henry corrects.   
Regina clarifies, “I don’t count the years I had you as ‘idle’. You were such a handful. Children always are.”  
Zelena coughs slightly and then the only sound is the clanking of silverware.   
“Well, hello, luv,” everyone turns to see Hook leaning against the door jamb, a dashing smile brightening his features.  
Regina, who is gathering the dishes, mutters, “Who invited the pirate?”  
Emma stares guiltily down at her hands, “Oh, Regina, by the way, I invited Hook.”  
Regina rolls her eyes, “You’re late. Dinner is over.”  
Hook doesn’t look the least bit disappointed, “Well that’s quite alright. I just came for the desert.”   
Regina turns to Robin, “That reminds me, Robin, would you be so kind as to dish out the strawberry short cake? The cake is on the counter and the strawberries and whipped cream are on the bottom shelf of the fridge.”  
Robin rises to do as he’s bid, “Whatever m’lady desires.”  
Regina addresses him once again, “How did you get in here anyway?”  
He responds simply, “The door was unlocked.”  
Hook takes the thief’s unoccupied chair, “So, what is the announcement? What new villain or monstrosity are we up against now?”  
Regina dismisses the idea, “Nothing so grand as that. Zelena?”  
Zelena’s courage fails her and she sinks back down into the seat. Everyone’s eyes are on her, expectantly awaiting, “I can’t.”  
Regina pinches the bridge of her nose. Not knowing how to sugar-coat it, she just comes out with it, “Zelena’s pregnant.”  
There is an audible popping sound as David’s jaw drops ajar and Mary Margaret nearly chokes on her orange juice; Hook’s eyes widen and Roland buries his head in his hands, though the five year old doesn’t fully comprehend the gravity of the situation. Henry claps enthusiastically and Emma joins in, offering congratulations in the hopes that it will prompt others to do the same. Mary Margaret glowers and if looks could kill, Zelena would have been reduced to a pile of ash right then and there.  
Hook is first to regain his composure, “So, who is the lucky father?”  
Regina answers for her nonresponsive sister, “Rumpelstiltskin.”  
Robin chooses this moment to reenter, balancing a tray of pastries in his hands. He surveys the room, “What did I miss?”  
…  
It is the worst possible way to find out. She is shopping for groceries at Storybrooke’s local supermarket when Snow approaches her, all sympathetic and concerned and she can’t for the life of her, understand why. And then the words, “How are you and Rumple doing with the baby?”  
Belle shakes her head in confusion, “What baby? There is no baby.”  
Snow apologizes, says it’s none of her business, but Belle stops her before she can leave, “What baby?”  
Snow reluctantly gives an explanation, then offers a shoulder on which to cry on. But Belle, in her blind fury, doesn’t want empty condolences; she wants revenge on the woman who has wriggled into her life and torn apart her world by infecting her marriage.  
She doesn’t go to Rumple. There is no point. He is too bewitched by her. She opens her dresser drawer, extracts the pendant and crushes it, squeezes it to dust as she had seen Rumple do with so many hearts.   
A bolt of green light bursts forth and then she doesn’t have time for regret because it’s over; she’d done it. The curse is lifted off her dear Rumple.  
…  
Regina glances down, irritated, at her watch, “It’s just like Snow to be late for her own child’s naming ceremony.” The party had been raging for nearly two hours now and the couple of honor was nowhere in sight.   
Robin chuckles, sipping at his wine, “Why are you in such a rush?”  
She leans in and kisses him, “Because I know what comes after a party when you’re drunk off your ass.”  
He can’t help himself, “More like who cums.” He furrows his brows, considering something, “Speaking of absentees, why isn’t your sister here?”  
Regina sighs, “She has been afraid to show her face since dinner a couple nights ago.”  
Robin nods, “It’s understandable.”  
Henry calls from his booth in the corner of Granny’s. Regina approaches, looking to the window, which he is pointing at, “There is nothing there, sweetheart.”  
He looks doubtful, “There was, just a moment ago, I swear. There was this flash of light and then it disappeared.”   
Regina mulls this over before concluding, “If it disappeared, I doubt there is much danger. I’ll look into it tomorrow, but it is probably nothing to worry about.”  
Henry accepts this, if a touch skeptically, and they continue to chat amiably for the next fifteen minutes before the diner’s door swings open to reveal three new figures. Snow stumbles in, followed by David and a third person who causes Regina to do a double take. But, at second glance, she confirms that she is not, in fact dreaming, but rooted firmly in reality. She doesn’t know quite how to feel about that though as her mouth goes dry and her heart ceases to be beat. She is vaguely aware of Robin beside her asking if she is all right, but she can’t bring herself to reply, can only whisper the single word that is bombarding her mind and clogging her brain, “Daniel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun, dun, duh!  
> Now, how to explain my way out of this new development?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, there is no good excuse for how long this took to write. So for any who care, I'm sorry. I had to rewrite this entire chapter and my sister was born in the last month which has caused things to be quite hectic. That mixed with the fact that it is summer and I have been extraordinarily lazy (I've been addicted to this game called Ark Survival and playing that nonstop lately) has caused the delay.

Gold had known the moment he saw the swirling blaze of colored light, had recognized it as Zelena’s time portal. And he’d known who caused it.  
“Belle,” he calls frantically for his wife, poofing to their shared bedroom. She is kneeling on the floor, clutching the shattered remains of the pendant, rocking back and forth, muttering what sounds like “Oh God, oh God, oh God…” on an infinite loop.  
“What have you done?!” he demands and he doesn’t know where this newfound rage has arisen from. He should be concerned for her, should he not? Yet he finds himself shaking the stuttering woman roughly, gripping her arms until he is sure her alabaster skin will bruise and it only fleetingly occurs to him that he should be comforting her, offering soothing words to try and coax forth an answer to her odd reaction.  
“I-I didn’t mean it Rumple, I swear, I didn’t. Oh God, take it back, oh God,” her incessant appeals to a deity are punctuated by a loud sob, a mixture of tears and snot running rampant down her face. They both know she isn’t talking about the newly opened time portal, but about how the separation of Zelena from her pendant is mortal and instantaneous, seeing that it is the essence of her magic and because magic is bound to the soul, it cannot be destroyed without deadly consequences for the bearer of such powers. Much like a cancerous tumor that has spread throughout the body, surviving such an ordeal is nothing short of a miracle, as removing the cancer would also mean cutting away at the attached organ. A keening wail tears from Belle’s lips because, intentional or not, she had murdered someone, not out of defense, but out of a lust for revenge. And now she cries for her innocence lost, for that piece of her that is now decaying inside of her like a rotting corpse in the heat of summer. And for the awareness that her now her tainted heart can only grow darker.   
She reaches out a hand for support and he recoils as if she is a leper who will pass on her dirty sickness. Aware that it will do no good, he transports himself to Regina’s mansion, knowing full well what scene will greet him and finds himself disturbed by the thought. Why should he give a damn about her?   
Nevertheless, his heart breaks at the sight of her broken body curled on the hard kitchen floor, spilt water pooling around her from an upturned cup- a chipped cup, he can’t help but observe.  
He takes her in his arms, brushing a strand of defiant fiery curls from her face. He doesn’t understand this strong reaction he has to her, doesn’t try to, just observes her lovely face, memorizing each glorious detail from the soft curve of her lips to the gentle arch of her brow. Tears are blurring his vision, so he thinks it is a trick of the light when her long lashes flutter open, confusion coloring her expression. His voice thick with wonder, he says, “You’re alive. How?”  
She spits, just as venomously as ever, “Sorry to disappoint you dear.”  
Without warning, he captures her lips in a consuming kiss. It is desperate and needy and he continues until he is forced to stop for breath. ‘Puzzled’ can’t even begin to describe look on her face, but it only serves to enhance her beauty.   
Through her heavy pants he can hear, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”  
“I haven’t a clue,” he replies, although he knows very well what it means, but the coward he is, is too afraid to admit it. Before she can inquire any further, he takes her mouth again, hauling her to her feet and pushing her against the wall in a passionate display of affection. He presses flush against her, for the first time noticing the small bump that hadn’t been present only a month before during their last infidelity. Pulling back, he takes in her entire profile and this time it is his turn to question, “What is that?”  
…  
Suddenly he is in her arms, placing a wet, sloppy kiss to her mouth and she is joyous, spellbound, confused, and angry all at once. He is Daniel in the flesh, alive, so unlike the cold, jerky motioned version Whale resurrected. He parts from her, placing a strand of raven hair behind her ear, “You cut your hair.”  
She laughs at the absurdity of that single comment, that after forty years of dreaming that he’d come back to her and imagining the various scenarios thereafter he’d chosen that one, simple statement as his first words to her. So she answers just as ridiculously, “That I did.”  
“Regina,” he breathes, stroking her cheek. She stares into his eyes and there is love shining in the deep blue orbs.   
“What the hell just happened?” Emma’s outburst brings Regina back to reality and oh, what a painful realization it is. Clearing her throat, finally noticing their audience, she puts some distance between her and her fiancé.   
Glancing around, she observes that everyone’s gazes are locked on the spectacle before them. And for once she can’t really blame them. It is common knowledge that she is in a relationship with Robin and then the next thing they see is their mayor sucking face with some stranger in the middle of the diner. Robin. Shit.   
A million questions course through her mind, but the one that is first and foremost is the location of what is now, it is safe to assume, her ex-boyfriend. Her attention turns to the door through which the two idiots had entered not moments before and if the beaming smile on Snow’s face is any indication, not only were they the ones to cause this mess, but that they’d done it on purpose too. She directs an accusatory glare at Snow, “We need to talk.”  
Snow frowns, “Regina, Zelena’s time portal-”  
“Later,” she says, pushing past the couple out into the chilled night. So that is how they had brought her dead fiancé back. She decides to try and piece that together at a later moment because now there is a more pressing matter to attend to. Daniel follows after like a lost puppy, and she doesn’t want him around for this, but can’t think of anywhere else for him to be. “Robin,” she calls out, noticing him by the street lamp.   
He turns, making no effort to hide the tears glistening in his eyes, “No, Regina, it is alright. I get it. You thought your fiancé was dead and it turns out he wasn’t. You belong with him.” She had told him about Daniel, about how he had been so savagely ripped from her.   
“Robin,” she repeats, unable to utter anything else.  
He walks closer, takes her hands in his, but is careful to avoid making the touch intimate, “Somehow - through magic I suspect – you’re true love has been brought back to you. Go with him and be thankful for it. I’d do the same if my Marian had come back from the dead.” He looks to Daniel and their gazes meet, blue eyes meeting in a challenging stare. Finally Robin says, “Take care of her. Cherish her. Love her the way she deserves. Don’t break her heart again – by intention or otherwise – or I swear you won’t live to tell of it.” Without a backward glance, the thief slips into the darkness from the queen’s sight and out of her life.  
Daniel regards her with what can only be described as concern, “Who is he? Is he important to you?”  
“He is no one important,” she lies. “He was my-” realizing Daniel won’t understand the new world word “boyfriend”, she starts again, “We were courting. We weren’t that serious.”   
Regina walks to her car, gesturing for Daniel to get in. Instead he grabs her arm, saying, “I need some explanation here. One thing I know, you and I are about to run away and live happily ever after, then your mother rips my heart from my chest, and then some woman named Mary Margaret shows up claiming to be Snow White and while I can’t argue there is a striking resemblance, there is the matter that she is thirty while the princess is no older than ten. Then she tells me about some time travel gibberish and suddenly I find myself in a new world and you’re different and older and with another man and God… Regina, how long was I out for?”  
“I told you, it’s nothing; Robin isn’t anyone to worry about. As for an explanation, I don’t have time to tell you everything right now. I have to attend to, uh… something,” Regina’s tone picks up a sense of urgency as her mind begins to ponder over the implications of the opened time portal. Where is her sister and more importantly how did she get ahold of the amount of magic it would take to fuel the damn thing? She once again ushers him impatiently towards the Benz, but he is having none of it, his feet firmly planted on the asphalt.  
“Fine, but before I get into that poor excuse for a carriage answer me this: how long was I gone for?” Daniel’s voice has taken on an edge.  
She huffs, beyond exasperated, “We can’t get into this now. We need to go.”  
“Not until you answer my question,” he retorts, stubborn as ever.  
“Okay, but then you promise we can leave and you’ll stop asking questions until I can form a proper explanation?” she relents and he nods his agreement. She almost whispers, as if the information is sacred, “Forty years.”  
“What?” he scowls.  
“You’ve been dead forty years,” she clarifies.  
The look on his face would have been comical, had it not been such a grave situation. “But, how is that possible? You don’t look-”  
“No, you promised,” she scolds and he trudges toward the car without further complaint, ever a man of his word. She slams the door shut, watching without amusement as Daniel fumbles with the seatbelt, trying to copy her movements.   
“What all were you told?” she says.  
“Oh, so you get to ask questions?” he inquires.  
“I need you to tell me because my… friend might be in trouble,” she avoids using the word “sister” realizing this would arouse another interrogation.  
He doesn’t miss the way her voice catches when she pauses over the word, “A friend?”  
“Yes, a friend. I believe she was instrumental in opening the time portal from whence you came, meaning the two incidents are related,” she persists, frustrated.   
Finally conceding, he says, “I wasn’t told much. Just that everyone from the Enchanted Forest is living in a different world with new and strange technologies. I was informed that you were here and just recently I was told that it has been forty years since I died, apparently.”  
She pinches the bridge of her nose, “Do you know how they brought you back? It shouldn’t be possible. How did they avoid fucking up the timeline?”  
He is momentarily taken aback by her crude language, but just shrugs, “I haven’t a clue. I’m sorry, Regina. I don’t know anything.”  
She reaches over, taking his hand in hers, “This must be very difficult for you. I don’t mean to be snappy, but I’m under a lot of stress. Just bear with me please.”  
He nods and Regina spends the entirety of the drive concocting various scenarios of what she would find once she returns home. But in all her wildest imaginings, she’d never thought it would be Zelena curled on the couch, a blanket wrapped snugly around her slim shoulders as she watches TV, engrossed in an episode of ‘The Big Bang Theory’ like it is the most natural thing in the world.


End file.
